/ I /{ / )N/) W'^^-^i dit\/ (Rt^xmll Winivmxi^ | ^}^mx^ THE GIFT OF %.^..^oJju.^ A..:z3.l.D-] 5: ""/^/o? The date shows when this volume was.taken. To renew this book c6py the call No. and give to the librarian. HOME USE RULES. f4.i\y ■'.'B^S; All Books subject to RAcall. 'O "* t ir'v* Books not used for H X L I h2 instruction or research are returnable within 4 weeks. Volumes of periodi- cals and of pamphlets are held in the library as much as possible. For special purposes they are given out for a limited time. Borrowers shotild not use their library privileges for the bene- fit of other persons. Books nof needed during recess periods should be returned to the library, or arrange- ments made for their return during borrow- er's absence, if wanted. Books needed by more than one person are held on the reserve list. Books of special value and gift books, . when the giver wishes it, are not allowed to. circulate. Readers are asked to report all cases of books marked or muti- lated. Do not deface books by marks and writing. Cornell University Library arV14293 3 1924 031 254 257 olin.anx The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924031254257 THE SPEAKER BEING ONE OF A SERIES OF HANDBOOKS UPON PRACTICAL EXPRESSION ISSUED BY THE DEPARTMENT OF ORATOBT AND ESTHETIC CRITICISM AT PRINCETON COLLEGE. AN ABRIDGEMENT OK THE ORATOR'S MANUAL, WITH ADDED HINTS UPON OKATORICAL COMPOSITION, BY GEORGE L. RAYMOND, L.H.D., TOGETHER WITH SELECTED SPECIMENS OF COLLEGE ORATOEY, AND A REFERENCE LIST OF SPEECHES SUITABLE FOR FORENSIC DECLAMA- TION TO BE FOUND IN THE PRINCIPAL COLLECTIONS. BY MARION M. MILLER, LITT. D. SILVEE, BUEDETT AND COMPANY New YOkk . . . BOSTON . . . Chicago 1893 V. h. '?-'?> \oi 5' Copyright, 1892, by Silver, Burdett and Co. c. j. peters & son, Ttpe-Sbteees and Electbottpeeb, 145 High Stseet, bobtok. DEDICATED TO Whig and Olio Halls, HISTORIC LITERARY SOCIETIES WHICH ARE , "THE PKIDE AND GLORY OF PRINCETON." M, M. M. PREFACE. . The text of this book has been prepared by request, in order to aid teachers in class-room work. The "Orator's Manual," from which most of the material is taken, was intended to be comprehensive. Necessarily, therefore, it explained methods of curing faults which few manifest, as well as of causing excellences which most speakers pro- duce naturally. These methods it is unnecessary for the majority of a class to study. Sometimes, too, it is unsafe, because they direct attention to what, for many at least, is unimportant ; and, in studying any art, to make the unim- portant seem important, tends to artificiality. Wherever a student's delivery is right, it should be let alone. For the reasons mentioned, it is believed that many will wel- come a book which is designed to confine class instruction to the more general characteristics of delivery which all need to study, and which all can study in the same way ; while training in more subtle effects is left to a time when the pupil can be dealt with individually. The book is thus suited to a concise, practical course of ten lessons in Academic and College Oratory. It is also a guide to the chief literature upon the subject, since its references, while more especially applicable to the books in the Princeton College Library, are suited, by the intro- duction in each instance of the names of author and pub- lisher, to the needs of other libraries and of private collec- tions. It is an attempt to do for forensic selections in VI PEEPACB. book form what the reference list in Werner's Directory (Publisher, E. S. Werner, New York ) has done for parlor elocution in pamphlet form. Unity as well as conciseness has been gained by the consideration of College Oratory as forensic rather than dramatic. However, in the matter of gesture, because of the inter-relation of the objective and subjective forms, a "Chart of Dramatic Gestures, mainly Subjective," has been included. {See pp. 92, 93.) Unity has been further gained by the constant use of the method of Induction. A hint has been taken from Mr. Rosenthal's method of instruction in foreign languages. Instead of beginning with a " foundation sentence," how- ever, there is a reversal of the " Meisterschaft System " in that each lesson leads up to one. Furthermore, the fact that this example is, in each instance, the same, saves the student time in committing a variety of texts, confines to one selection the tendency toward mechanical rendition incident upon crowding into it every variety of emphasis and gesture, and, above all, reveals the close connection between all the parts of the subject, and this to an extent attainable by no other method. The principles, especially those printed in large type, may be studied for recitation in the class-room. The praxis should be subsequently rehearsed by the students singly or in small divisions. The Selections of Princeton College Oratory are espe- cially intended to illustrate the lesson upon Oratorical Composition. As the actual work of undergraduates, they are more inspiriting models than the classics of oratory to be found in the books for which the reference list is a guide, although some of these classics are also given with the appropriate marks for inflection and gesture. As examples of actual college themes there is added a list of subjects of Princeton Junior Orations for ten years back. PREFACE. VU The method of this " Speaker " is that also of the two other books to follow, " The Writer " and " The Debater," written by members of the Department of Oratory and Esthetic Criticism of Princeton College. As in the preface to the " Orator's Manual," so again here, a sense of indebtedness for valuable suggestions, with reference to the subjects treated in this book, over and beyond what seems to be common property, needs to be ex- pressed to S. M. Cleveland, M.D., of Philadelphia, formerly Professor of Rhetoric and Oratory in the University of Pennsylvania; C. J. Plumptre, author of "Lectures on. Elocution" in King's College, London, and Emilio Belari, Professeur de Chant, Paris ; also to the following, especially, among the many works of merit on elocution that have been written in this country : '■' The Philosophy of the human Voice," by James Kush, M. D. ; " The Culture of the Voice," by James E. Murdoch and William Russell ; " Reasonable Elocution," by P. Taverner Graham, and the various pub- lications of Professor L. B. Monroe, of the Boston School of Oratory. Nothing was said in the " Orator's Manual " of any in- debtedness to Delsarte. This was because, at the time when it was prepared, in 1878, the only knowledge, if any, that the author had of the system of the great French mas- ter, had been derived in Paris through secondary sources. What had thus been derived was undoubtedly Delsartean, and probably directly due to Delsarte, in the sense that it caused the author in all cases to search for psychological reasons to account for the uses of the various elements of expression. But that the particular reasons assigned by him and embodied in the explanations of the book were his own, any one who will compare with any previous presen- tations of these subjects such chapters as those treating of pitch, stress, and the meanings of gestures, will soon dis- cover. That the " Orator's Manual " is used as a text-book in many distinctively Delsarte Schools, and never in so many of these as at present, merely proves the importance of method and the substantial agreement of results to which similar methods inevitably tend. CONTENTS. PART I. Principles of Oral Expression. VOCAL CULTURE. PAGE Lesson I. — The Motor and Essential Organs of Vocal Ex- pression. Exercises ... 3 Lesson II. — The Production of Sounds. Vowels and Conso- nants. Exercises 10 EMPHASIS. Lesson III. — General Principles. Exercise 17 Lesson IV. — Time. Pause and Movement. Exercise ... 23 Lesson V. — Pitch. Rising and Falling Inflections con- trasted . . . 28 Lesson VI. — Pitch, continued. Rising and Palling Circum- flexes contrasted. Exercise . . ... 39 Lesson VII. — Force. Syllabic Force or Stress. General Force ... .... 49 Lesson VIII. — Quality. Its Forms. Exercise .... 63 GESTURE. Lesson IX. — Gesture. Posture, etc. The Opening and Clos- ing Gestures 69 Lesson X. — Gesture Continued. Preparatory Movements. Charts and Exercises 77 COMPOSITION. Lesson XI. — Style. Introductions, Conclusions, Divisions, etc. Chart. Examples of Subject. ... 94 ix CONTENTS. PART II. Marked Selections for Declamation, Reply to Flood . . Grattan . Parliamentary Reform Brougham Employment of Indians in American War ... Chatham Condition of Ireland Meagher War Inevitable Henry . The Declaration of Independence . . Adams Northern Laborers . Naylor . The Expunging Kesolution . . Clay . . British Influence ... . . Randolph Right to Tax America ... . Burke . Partition of Poland Fox . . Catiline to Gallic Conspirators . . Croly Catiline's Defiance ... . . Croly Rolla to the Peruvians Sheridan Last Charge of Ney Seadley Dangerous Legislation . . ... McDowell Examples for Ireland .... Meagher Small Beginnings of Great Historical Movements Millard . Ignorance in Our Country a Crime . Mann Sufferings and Destiny of the Pilgrims, Everett Galileo . . Everett . II. Prize Princeton Orations. 1882 to 1892 W. K. Shelby, '83 The Puritans and Practical Liberty , The Erench Philosophers and the Reign of Terror . ... The Principle of Harmony in Nature and Humanity .... Another Side of the Eifteenth Amend- ment .... Reality and Literature . . ... Natural Transcendentalism in Litera^ ture . ... . . Puritanism in Literature Culture and Conservatism .... PAGK 119 121 123 125 126 127 129 132 134 136 137 138 140 142 143 146 149 151 153 155 157 . 161 E. M. Boyle, '83 . . . 164 James M. Baldwin, '84, 169 J. M. Baldwin, '84 . . 173 C. W. Mcllvaine, '85 . 179 C. F. McClumpha, '85, 183 M. M. Miller, '86 . . 187 Geo. T. Eddy, '86 . . 192 COKTENTS. XI The Philosophic Basis of the French Revolution R. B. Johnson, '87 . . 197 The Underlying Principle of Human Progress B. W. Mason, '87 . . 202 The Rise and Influence of Stoicism . W. A. Wyckoff, '88 . . 205 The Philosophy of Reform . . . . J. H. Pershing, '88 211 The Influence of Scientific Thought on Literature H. G. JDrummond, '89 . 215 The National Antipathy to the Negro, R. E. Speer, '89 . . . 219 Evolution in Civilization . . . . E. B. Baxter, '90 . . 223 Philosophy and Civilization . . . . E. B. Baxter, '90 . . 230 Literature and Life G. R. Wallace, '91 . . 235 The Champion of Spanish Republi- canism W. Aull, '91 ... 243 The Ideal Spirit G. T. Wood, '92 . . . 246 III. Reference List of Selections. List of Elocutionary Guides . . . 257 List of Speeches 273 PART I. PRINCIPLES OF ORAL EXPRESSION. Midriff, or Dia- phragm. Lungs. Windpipe, or Trachea. Voicebox, or Larynx. Upper Part of the Throat, or Pharynx. Mouth. Tongue. Nasai Cavities. Hard Palate. Soft Palate. Eustachian Tube. THE SPEAKER. LESSON I. VOCAL CULTUKE. Note. — It is well for the pupil to begin this study by having explained to him the organs of vocalization. But it is still more important for him to understand that a thorough culture of the voice involves a daily practice of the exercises indicated in these first two chapters, continued through months and years. For the first few weeks, until the muscles of the diaphragm and throat can be expanded and contracted with the sound at will, only the elementary exercises should be attempted. Later, the more advanced exercises may be used. For these reasons, with classes, especially of younger pupils, it may be best to begin instruction with the third lesson. § 1. Preliminary Exercises. Time for Vocal Practice. — Begin from one to five hours after eating, and practise from fifteen to thirty minutes. I. If any one exercise fatigues or irritates the organs, pass on to another. II. If out of practice, go over the exercises daily for three or four days before public speaking. a. Alternating Passive and Active Chest. — Without breath- ing' or moving shoulders, repeatedly lift the chest from that which is its ordinary (passive) condition, to the slightly raised and expanded (active) condition in which the shoulders seem to be back and down. When practising the vocal exercises, always hold the chest in this active position. b. Waist Movements. — Bend the body backward and forward, from side to side, and, without moving the hips, twist it, i.e., turn shoulders from side ta side. 3 4 THE SPEAKER. c. Arm Movements. — After acquiring the mode of breathing (see § 3) — I. Do the following, all slowly and gently : While filling the chest, lift the arms (without bending elbows) outward till the two togetlier form a straight line parallel to the floor. When chest is filled, strike it gently with the hands ; alternately move the arms slowly about the chest upward and downward, and backward and forward ; hold the arms up, and, bending the elbows, alternately elevate the hands and touch the cheeks with the backs of the fingers. II. Do the following vigorously ■ Draw back the elbows with hands near the shoulders, fists clinched and palms up ; take and hold a full breath ; push forward the hands, on a line level with the shoul- ders, at the same time unclasping the fingers ; then, keeping the arms as near to the sides as possible, so as not to strain the lungs, and clinching the fingers, draw the fists against tlie shoulders and as far back as you can. Place each fist near its own shoulder, fill lungs, and, keeping the elbows near the body, touch them in front, and behind if you can. d. Neck Movements. — Bend the head backward and forward, from side to side, and twist it. § 2. The Organs of Vocal Expression may be considered as divided into four classes : — a. The Motor, causing the vibration of b. The Essential organ, productive of sound, this sound being modified by c. The organs of Intensification and d. Articulation. § 3. To the first class, the Motor, belong the organs of res- piration, the lungs and bronchial tubes and the muscles of the diaphragm and ribs surrounding them. (iSee Plate I. page 2.) a. Under the breathing and over the digestive organs, separating the two, is the diaphragm, the muscles of which are so formed as to act in the lungs like a piston in a pump's cylinder. These are the only muscles in the body so made and placed as to draw into. the lungs all the air possible; or to force it out of them in such a way as to produce the most powerful and effective sounds. When this diaphragm sinks, to draw in the air, it crowds down the abdomen and pushes it outward. When the diaphragm rises, to force out the air, it contracts and draws in tlie abdomen. Babes and strong men breathe and speak thus, naturally. Weak persons, and those who sit or stoop much, acquire a habit of using mainly the muscles of the upper chest, the lifting of which, in order to inhale, draws the ahdo- VOCAL CULTURE. 6 men in, and the dropping of which, in order to exhale, forces the -SittSonien out. This habit weakens the lower lungs, by keeping one from using them. It weakens, also, the upper lungs, by employing them for a purpose for which they are not fitted. Besides this, as it does not expel the air from the bottom of the lungs, it lessens the quantity of breath used in vocalizing ; and also, as the chest, while one is speaking thus, contracts the upper bronchial tubes, which otherwise would expand and vibrate during the utterance, it lessens the resonance of the tones. {See also what is said in § 134, page 66, of the special form of breathing accompanying the orotund quality.) b. The proper order in deep breathing is to expand first the abdomen; i.e., the front, and at the same time the sides and back of the waist, then the lower ribs at the sides, then the upper chest ; and in exhaling, to contract first the abdomen and waist, then the lower ribs at the sides, and last, the chest. This will be acquired through the following exercises : Exercises in Breathing. (See §§ 1, 2.) Always inhaling through nostrils — I. Expand, first, abdomen, then lower side ribs, then lift chest, then contract abdomen and side ribs, and last drop the chest. (§l:a.) In the following, tfa beginner, place the arms akimbo, with fingers pointing forward, then throw shoulders (not body) forward so as to keep the chest down, and with fingers gently drawing apart the lower ribs below the breast bone — II. Expand, first, lower side ribs, then (throwing shoulders back) the abdomen, and lift chest, then contract the lower ribs and abdomen, and last drop the chest. (§l:a.) After a few weeks, see to it also that the muscles at .side and back of the waist ex- pand as you draw in the air. iJ^= In holding the breath, or letting it out, never allow yourself to feel that there is contraction or force expended in the throat. Keep the throat open: make the waist muscles do all the work. According to each mode, practise — I. Effusive or tran- quil breathing; i.e., in- hale slowly, and exhale with a prolonged whis- pered sound of h. II. Expulsive ; i.e., inhale more rapidly and expel, by contracting the abdomen, repeated whispers (a second or two long), of h — h, h — h, etc. III. Explosive or abrupt; i.e., inhale more rapidly (or inhale slowly); expel, by con- tracting the abdomen, suddenly and forcibly, one or any number of whispered sounds of h. In this way cough, yawn, sob, and laugh out the whispers. THE SPEAKKR. c. To acquire the use of the diaphragm in vocalizing, after inhal- ing, draw in the abdomen suddenly, by an act of the wiii, ana »i "flfe same time gently cough out hoo, hoe, haw, or hah, as in the exer- cise in § 7; II. After a few days, the contraction of the abdomen, which at first is merely produced at the same time as the vocal utter- ance, will come to be the cause that produces it. d. To develop full respiration, strong utterance, and clear articula- tion, practise the exercise in § 7: III, or read anything in a whisper. Never prolong this exercise for more than two or three minutes. Never practise breathing or whispering after you feel giddy. § 4. The Essential organ is the larynx. {See Plate II.) Plate H. — Side View of the VoicEBOx, OR Larynx, show- ing THE Interior of it, the RIGHT Plate being removed. 1, 2. Pyramids {^Arytenoid Cartilages). 3, 3. Front Projection^ of the Pyramids. 4. Leuer of the Right Pyramid. 5. Upper Border of the Ring. 6, 3, 3. Vocal Ligaments. 7. Lid. 8. Shield. 9. Left Upper Horn of the Shield 10. Ring. 11. Windpipe, or Trachea. a. It surmounts the trachea, or windpipe, and is connected by the hyoid bone to the base of the tongue. During the act of swallowing, by an upward movement against the base of the tongue, it is covered by the epiglottis. Beneath this covering lies the cavity of the larynx. This is divided by a central contraction, called the glottis, into a VOCAL CULTURE. 7 conical chamber above and a cylindrical one below. The glottis is bounded by the projection of two ligamentous bands called the vocal cords (though the terra " cord" is misleading), and that of the ven- tricular bands above. The ventricle of the larynx, situated behind the latter, intensifies the sounds emitted by the vocal cords These cords are attached to the thyroid (&vQBog, a shield.) the protecting cartilage of the whole larynx, the arytenoids {aQvia^^a, cup,) and these in turn to the cricoid {iCQcxog, ring), the fundamental cartilage. The muscles moving these cartilages affect the tension of the vocal cords and their vibratory length, for, the cords being arranged some- what in the shape of a V, contraction of the apex has the same result m increasing the pitch of the sounds emitted, as the shortening by the hand of the strings on the neck of a guitar. But pitch is not entirely dependent upon (he larynx used as a stringed instrument. It depends also upon variation in length of the resonating columns of air passing through the cords as through reeds. (See § 5.) Exercises of the Vocal Cords. (Attack.) I. Holding the breath, repeat as rapidly as possible, a soft, short sound, between that of u in uj) and oo in coo — vtrhispered — then softly vocal — and up and down the scale. Make it in the for- ward part of the month, rather than in the throat, and never after it begins to irritate the organs. II. If you have a voice of a breathing quality, occasionally, for a few seconds, hold the breath and force it against the vocal cords so as to grate them together, emitting a half-vocalized, constantly inter- rupted sound. § 5. The organs of Intensification (Resonance), in addition to the tubes and chambers of the lungs and larynx, are the upper throat, 'or 'pharynx, the nasal cavities, the mouth, or buccal cavity (bucca, cheek), the /tare? and so/)! ^aZaies, and the uvula. (See Plate III.) a. The pharynx is a connecting chamber for the passage from the stomach, (the oesophagus), and from the lungs, (the larynx), and those from the drums of the ears, (Eustachian tubes), and from the nose. It is the stage proper of the theatre of the voice. While it is important that its entrances and exits and resonating "flies" should be kept open and free from obstruction (the Eustachian tubes are easily inflated if mouth and nose be closed), the chief organ of in- tensification under control of the will is 8 THE SPEAKER. b. The nose (nasal cavities). Respiration during vocal exercises should usually be through it alone. Its resonance results mainly from the vibration of c. The hard and soft palates. The former being the hard, bony portion that arches the front of the mouth, serves also as a reflector Uuuta. Tonsil, Fauces. \'^JL*nijk/l Anterior pal- atine arch. Posterior pa- latine Arch. Pharynx. Tongue. • Plate III. — Vikw of Parts seen when the Mouth is widely open.' of sound for the buccal cavity. It is the dome of the theatre. The soft palate is the movable covering and partition at the back of the mouth. As a covering it is a sort of " proscenium arch " over the stage, or pharynx, and is supported by two muscular ridges on either side, which are called the "pillars of the fauces." These can be brought near together at will, narrowing the space between tliem, called " the isthmus of the fauces." As a partition, the soft palate answers to the curtain of the stage, affecting resonance by closing at will the openings of the pharynx to the nose and mouth. To do the first, its pendent portion, the uvula, is drawn backward, and a cushion is formed behind it, stopping the nasal passages. The second is accomplished by lowering the soft palate and lifting the back of the tongue till the two meet. ' The above illustrative cut is taken from " The Mechanism of the Human Voice " by permission of E. S. Werner, publisher- VOCAL CULTXJEE. 9 d. It is essential that, throughout all vocalization not imitative, the underlying muscles of the organs of resonance should be in a pas- sive state, leaving the surfaces free to vibrate. With Americans, as a rule, these muscles, especially those below and about the nasal pas- sages, share wrongly in the active work of articulation, which is only appropriately done near the tip of the tongue and the lips. As a result, the sweetness of the voice is impaired and catarrh and laryn- gitis are contracted. Demesthenes, by practising articulation with a mouth filled with pebbles, not only cured his stammering, but, as we now know, did so by breaking up the connection, merely sympathetic, between the muscles intended for articulation and for resonance. He thus necessarily trained an effective voice, every cultivated speaker being one who, in some way, has acquired a, habit of letting the vowel sounds come forward through a pharynx and nasal passages uncontracted and open (even in sounding m and n) and of producing all articulation as near the lips and tip of the tongue as possible. Exercises in Throat Movements. — To accustom different parts of the back of the month and throat to open and allow vowel sounds to come forward — I. Keep putting tip of tongue behind upper front teeth, and car- rying it, as if about to swallow it, along roof of mouth. II. Keep lifting the soft palate (something like gaping) ; look into a mirror and cause the uvula (i.e., the membrane hanging from the back of the roof of the mouth) to disappear. III. Alternately gape and make a movement as if about to swallow. IV. Put three fingers' breadth between the upper and lower teeth, and keep moving the lips backward and forward. ' In connection with this and each lesson, it would be well for the teacher to read aloud the " Foundation Exercise in Declamation," page 22, and to have his pupils repeat it, clause by clause, after him. His main object in doing this here will be to show them at what places to pause for breathing; but, incidentally, in connection with it, by giving the appropriate emphasis to his words, he will train them, unconsciously to themselves, to proper methods. By following him with their voices, the majority of them will acquire habits of making inflections, etc., in the right way, as easily as they would learn to sing. In later lessons, the pupils should be required to read for themselves the quotations that are given in illustration of the prin- ciples. 10 THE SPEAKER. LESSON II. VOCAL CULTURE. — ARTICULATION. § 6. The different phonetic elements entering into the bounds of the English language are usually classified with reference to the organs of their production. Tliose sounds which are unchecked (affected only by resonance, shape of cavitieSj etc.) are called vowels ; the sounds checked by any of the organs of articulation are called consonants. Those uttered with the voice are said to be sonant, and those aspirated with the breath, surd. Those that are continuous, though impeded, are termed fricatives, sibilants if hissed, and spirants if breatlied ; and those that are incapable of prolongation are termed mutes. Those in which severally the hard palate, tongue, and lips are the prominent organs of production, are classified respectively a.s jmlatal, lingual, and labial. Those produced while all the breath is passing through the nose, are termed nasal. The following is a tabulation of these sounds as arranged by Professor "Whitney of Yale. The diacritical marks are those of Webster's Dictionary : — VOCAL CULTURE. — PHONETICS. 11 c 2 d o c o (3 o s ►1 B >~t 3 t-t a to i:^ p> o. P Cl. P 3. s e S 3 c* c* e*- V 1 . E. . t^ era en II "^ 3 e long, y p. o" 3 2' Jl S 3 ai ^ •3 12 THE SPEAKER. § 7- Explanation. I. Beginning at the top of the table of sounds and running down tlie left side, we have the palatal series, beginning with the pure, open, fundamental tone, the Italian a, gradually closing until It ends with the much obstructed k: a, a, a, e, y, ng, h, zh, sh, g, k. Kunning down the centre, we have the lingual series: a, u, 1", 1, 11, z;, s, dh, tli, d, t. On the right is the labial series: ii, a, 6, u, w, m, V, f, b, p. II. Practice in Voiwel Sounds : Position. — Stand erect with shoulders back and cliest active, i.e. lifted and slightly expanded; look straight ahead; hold chin in; rest on one leg, with both straight, and feet four inches apart, so placed that a straight line drawn through one foot from toe to heel will pass through the heel of the other. (See page 70.) a. Open the mouth least for oo, more for oh, still more for aw, and more yet for ah. To keep the mouth open, place part of a match-stick between the upper and lower front teeth, one to one and a half inches long for aw, shorter for oh, longer for ah. b. It is best to practise aw between about f and b, ^y^.^ ^ ; an 00 quality of aw for a note or two above this; then oh ^i on the highest (speaking) notes; ah is best for the lowest notes. Tenors and sopranos should practise most between f and b (as above), bassos and contraltos between d and g. Avoid practising too high. VOICE CULTUEE. — PHONETICS. 13 Practise oo, but espe- cially oh, avr, and later, ah. I. Effusively. Walk- ing slowly, with arms akimbo, sound, as long as possible, but not after you lack in breath, a soft, low oo. Later, take up oh, aw, and ah. II. Expulsively. Utter, by contracting the abdomen, with mod- erate force, repeated sounds (a second or two long) of oo, then oh, etc. III. Explosively. Utter, by contracting the abdomen, short, sharp, ringing tones, oo ! then oh, etc. When rightly given, a match held in front of the mouth will not be blown out by the breath. In this way cough, ya'wn, sob, and laugh out the sounds. Inhaling through nostrils as in breathing exercises, expelling breath by contracting the abdomen, and allowing none to escape before vocalizing it, repeat over slowly — I. Twoo, vroo, etc. After a few repetitions, lowering the chin and bringing it forward slightly, and retain- ing the 00 quality of the tone, pass on to woe ; thus: ■woo, woo, woe, woe, etc. After a few repetitions drop the w, yet keep the vowel where it was with tlie w before it ; thus : woe, woe, oh, oh, etc. Practise oh, on a comparatively high key, for five or ten minutes. When aw can be made properly, as indi- cated below, bringing forward the chin, lowering the chin and pitch, and retaining the oh quality of the tone, pass to aw, aw, etc., and from aw, drawing the chin back and down a little, to ah, ah, etc. II. Keeping the tongue as flat as possible behind, with its tip against the lower front gums, push forward the lower jaw, open mouth wide, draw in the breath as if about to yawn, and with the mouth in this posi- tion utter from abdomen, at a medium pitch, for five or ten minutes, haw, haw, etc., aw, aw^, etc. Aspirate slightly, and drop h when sure that the sound is made from the abdomen. After a few days pass from haw, aw, down the scale to hah, ah, and up the scale to ho, oh, as indicated above. III. Practice in Consonant Sounds. — Contracting abdomen with each utterance, and taking care not to pronounce the name of the consonant, and not to sound the vowel following it, repeat the vocal sounds indicated by the sonants and breathing sounds by the surds. 14 THE SPEAKER. sonanis. f SUIUQ. First three for nasal passages.* V '." vow, "'ZC"' ?„' fourfold. *» as ,«««r. noae-breathmg m i„ moon, tormot tb ' bob, " P " pawpaw. n " noon, " td ' daud, " t " taught. ng " anguish, " tg ' gog, c(k) " cuckoo. 1 " Lulu, 6(i) ' George, " ch " chowchow. y " you, th ' though, " th " thought. r " row, z ' azure, " tsh '• Shaw. r " err, z ' zone, " Js " sauce. IV. Practice in Diphthongs. — Moving the jaws vigorously, repeat oi-ai-ou, oi-ai-ou, etc. V. Practice in Vowel and Consonantal Combination. a. In uncultivated voices, the muscular effort of articulating the consonants closes the back of mouth and the throat, thus keeping the vowel sounds down. In stammering and stuttering, the chief trouble is the same; i.e., the articulation, so to speak, swallows the vowel. So practise -words containing consonants and open or long vowels, keeping vowel sounds as near the lips and the throat as wide open as possible, with the lower jaw forward and the throat in the position of wailing. If the exercise tires the muscles on the outside of the throat, no matter. b. Eepeat the words in III., using, at first, a separate action of the diaphragm with each consonant, and dwelling upon each very distinctly, thus: b-o-b, d-au-d. Also, bibe babe booby bauble dod daud died doodle gawky gargoyle gong glowing judge jejune jujube Julia lull loll dwell liberty rare rule rural bar more mine maim moon noun none nine name thou loathe mouthing mother vault hive love lave wayward wave pope pipe your culture tote tight zeugma zone church changing Asia azure thaw through cocoon croking show bosh fife five cease souse ' A cultivated voice out of practice can be prepared for public speaking by a two days' repetition of the above exercises. * Also, kng in k(i)ng. t Practise much on tow tones. i Do not practise these unless you lisp. PHONETICS. 15 c. Moving the lips and diaphragm vigorously, repeat with e and short vowels — ■Wee -■week- -wick -wack-wock, or quee - queck-quick - quaok-quock. 2:^=' Learn to use the open vowels with consonants, and the short vowels will usually take care of themselves. d. Practise difficult combinations of consonants with and without vowels. (See §7: IV.) Add also t or d and st to the first three columns of the following : arm wrong crack brow sky helms dream bathe bask crow spy prompt scorn imprison crackle grow spry nymphs hold chirp throttle strow blow thousandth furl live dazzle throw glow twelfth probe inarch baffle frown flown rhythms range bark gobble prow splash expects forge milk drivel draw slow contents Jl^^ In practising upon the consonants it is better to repeat over the separate consonants or combinations of consonants rather tlian the ■whole ■words in which they are found. Otherwise there is danger that the articulation, instead of becoming proper, will become precise, — one of the worst of faults. In order to appreciate the complex and subtle character of correct pronunciation, notice the following: Table showing Vowel Sounds, and how they are modiiied by consonant sounds associated with them : In each line below, when read across the page, the vowel sound is the same, but, whenever one pronounces it quickly and naturally, the consonant following it changes the position of the tongue, so that, instinctively and necessarily, this is Vowel Sounds. 6, ;i 0, Drawn up against the month's roof, thickened behind and contracted, thus closing the back of the mouth, it in met men fat fan what wan Curled up slightly, lengthened, flat- tened behind and loosened, thus opening the back of the mouth. spirit quill merit mellow fare fallow far* folly Brought forward still more, and flat- tened behind, thus still more opening the back of the mouth. quiz rhythm essence death ask* bath* oscillate father* 16 THE SPBAKBE. (Continued from the last page.) a 6 au, God dawn or all exhaust author 6, boat bone bore bowl gross loathe eoil, but bun bur* bulb buzz mother 00 u, put book wool pull puss butcher U 00, moot moon poor pool loose booth ea ee e, meet mean mere meal knees breathe a ai ay, late lain layer flail lays lathe i ie y, fight fine fire file rise writhe ou ow. out town our owl browse mouthing oioy. adroit loin boil poise ia io iu, patriot minion familiar genial fractious u eu, refute impugn pure mule music SELECTED' EXERCISES m VOCAL CULTURE FOR DAILY PRACTICE. Fifteen Minutes. -with 1. Active and Passive chest, abdomen and sides alternately, - empty and full lungs. Arm movements, page 4. 2. Inhale and exhale slowly, — first at abdomen, then at lower sides, — then at chest. 3. With elevated chest, inhale and exhale at abdomen and lower sides. 4. Exhale through one nostril with compressed lips, with whis- pered ah. 5. Keep moving tongue's tip from lower teeth back along roof of mouth. 6. With tongue's tip out, keep moving its root and the larynx as if swallowing. 7. With fingers between teeth, keep opening lips. 8. Look in a mirror and keep lifting uvula. 9. Sit straight, half fill lungs, hold abdomen stiff — and empty lungs with puffs of p (ilh)-p-p. 10. Repeat several times fi-om abdomen wo ; waw ; and oi, ai, ou. 11. Vocalize and whisper uh, uh, uh. 12. Repeat rapidly until lungs are emptied, la, la, la. Roll r-r-r. Sound ng, ng, k ; and ee, ee, mm. * Those who are manufacturing phonetic alphabets should notice that the peculiar sound of the vowel that distinguishes ask and bath from fat^far and father from what, and bur from but, depends on the following consonant, and therefore needs no separate vowel representative. Ask and bath are to fat as quiz and rhythm to it, buzz and mother to but, puss and butcher to put, browse and mouthing to out : so between father and what the difference is no greater than between author and God, or mouthing and out ; and bur is to hut as far to what poor to moot, mere to meet. EMPHASIS. 17 13. Sound each following initial consonant alone; then with the vowels ; and then with all the letters following both itself and the other initial consonants: boob goig lail dod maum thath jouj nahn rer 14. With full orotund tone (see § 135) and deep breathing, repeat, "Koll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll! Independence, con- stitution, abounding, amazement." g@^ Read from page 22, as directed on page 9, with special refer- ence to Articulation. LESSON III. Note. — From this point on the numbering of the sections and references to them correspond to those in the " Orator's Manual." EMPHASIS. § 1 7. The first thing noticeable in the utterance of consecutive words is, that certain of them are uttered with more weight of voice than others are; that they receive what, for this reason, is termed an ein- phctsis. A little thought will evince that this emphasis is given to words mainly because they are conceived of as introducing into the general drift of the phraseology more weight of meaning than other words do; often as in themselves conveying the specific meaning that characterizes a whole passage. A man, e.g., may remark: "I intend to walk to Boston." Five persons hearing him may exclaim, respec- tively, "You intend," etc., "You intend," etc., "You intend to loalk," etc., " You intend to walk to Boston!" " You intend to walk to Boston! " In each case the word (in italics) emphasized indicates that it, rather than any other, specifies that which conveys to the con- ception of the speaker the import, information, or peculiarity of the expression. This example shows also the importance, if we wish to be rightly understood, of emphasizing the right words in the right way. It will be noticed that the same phraseology may be made to convey almost as many different ideas as there are different words in it to be empha- sized. Here is the § 18. General Principle Underlying Emphasis. Words or phrases conceived of as introducing neiv importance, infor- mation ot: peculiarity into the general thought of a passage are emphasized ; those that merely carry forward the gen- 18 THE SPEAKER. ei-al thought, expressing what is of little value in itself, or is known, acknowledged, forestalled or repetitious, either in the way of statement or sequence, are slighted, a. For illustrations consult §§ 40, 41, 42. All that are necessary for our present purpose may be considered in connection with the follow- ing:— § 19. Antithetic Emphasis. Antithetic or contrasted words or phrases necessarily introduce importance, pecu- liarity, etc., into the general thought, and are emphasized. 1. If we have no regard for our own character, we ought, at least, to regard the character of others. 2. Tlie wicked flee when no man pursueth ; but the righteous are bold as a lion. 3. Without vi^ve fightings ; loithin'were fears. 4. Faithful are the wounds of a, friend ; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. § 20. Transferred Emphasis. When a word or clause that has been once emphasized is repeated soon after, the emphasis, unless there be some special reason for directing attention again to the same thought, is transferred to some other word or clause ; e.g. 1. JesMS asked them, saying, What thinli ye of Christ, — whose son is he? Tliey say unto him. The sou of David. He saith unto them. How, then, doth David in spirit call him Lord f ... If David, then, call him Lord, how is lie his son ? 2. How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and / perish with hunger ! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say unto him, Father, I have sinned. .3. He is the propitiation for our sins ; and not for ours only, but for the sins of the v>hole world. Also John vii. 41, 42. a. But if the repeated word has a new import or refers to a different object, it may be emphasized ; e.g. 1. And he began to be in want, and he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country, and he sent him into the fields to feed swine. 2. Then he said, I pray thee, therefore, father, that thou woiildst send him to mj father' s house. EMPHASIS. 19 § 21, As an association in sound is the best possible rep- resentation of an association in sense,^ we frequently find words and clauses that seem to introduce little into the . general thought, which, nevertheless, must be emphasized, to indicate the relation that they hold to other words and clauses ; hence a. Emphasis on Account of Association. Words or series of words associated with each other, either by bein" in apposition or by having similar grammatical relation- ships or general characteristics, are similarly emphasized. {See § 211 : 5, 7, 12 ; § 215.) 1. Thou speakest of great principles which we do not understand — oxygen and hydrogen. 2. For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, The oppressor's lorong. the proud man's contuineli/, The pangs of despised lore, tlie law's delay, The insolence of office and the spurns That patient merit of tlie unworthy tal^es, When he liimself miglit liis quietus malie With a bare bodlsin? 3. Holy intention is to the actions of a man that which the soul is to the body, or form to its matter, or the root to its tree, or the sun to the world, or the fountain to a river, or the base to a jnllar ; for without these tlie body is a dead trunk, the matter is sluggish, the tree is a block, the river is quickly dry, and the pillar rushes mto flatness or ruin. Connected with this principle of association are the following: § 22. Emphasis by Attraction. In order not to interfere with the general sense of the sentence in which they stand, words, or series of words, sometimes receive by attraction an emphasis appropriate only for some more important word with which they are associated. Thus, in the following, power receives the same emphasis as not. If it preceded not, it would be emphasized diiiferently. 1. Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of such means as the God of Nature has placed in our power. And hold and duty receive the same as exclaim, though the Duke would have uttered them differently. 2. Was Arthur Duke of Wellington in the house, and did he not start up and exclaim : " Hold I I have seen the aliens do their duty " ? 20 THE SPEAKER. § 23. Emphasis by Personation or Eepresentation. Words, or series of words, associated with, a conception that may be represented by the tones of the voice, may receive an emphasis suggesting that which is mentioned ; e.g. In quick time — He flew by like a flash o' lightning. In low pitch — He growled out, "Who's there ? " With loud force — Forward, the light brigade! With thin volume — Here's a knife ; clip quick! Representing character — "Well, Jo! What is the matter? Don't be frightened." "I thought," says Jo, who has started and is looking round — "I thought I was in Tom-all-Alone's agin. An't there nobody here but you, Mr. Woodcot?" § 24. In reading the Bible, personation, in the sense of imitating the manner of the characters described, should not be carried too far. The reader should be in the attitude of a medium, — both receiving and imparting, both listening and causing others to listen. § 25. Besides applying the above principles, in determining the appropriate emphasis to be used with any given word or phrase : a. Let one try to find out how he would utter the same if he were talking it, instead of declaiming it. b. Let one try the words supposed to be enjphatic, then other words (without regard to the part of speech to which they belong), until satisfied that he has found the right emphasis for the right word. c. Let him remember tliat, with inexperienced speakers, the inspiration that comes from an audience affects favorably only /orce and volume (§§ 29, 30) ; the pauses and inflections, and to some extent, movement B.nApitch(%% 29, 30), it affects unfavorably ; there- fore, one should invariably determine upon these latter before the time for declaiming comes. § 29. The Elements of Emphasis are, Time, determined by the relative rapidity with which words are uttered; Pitch, by the relative position of the sounds on the musical staff, whether high, gl" i medium, ^-|»z or low, ^-j— Force, by the relative energy with which the breath is expelled from the lungs; and. Volume, by the relative degree in which the breath is vocalized and made resonant. EMPHASIS. 21 § 32. The Significance of the Elements of Emphasis must be determined, in all cases, by the object in view, or by the effect produced when using any given element. Time. When a speaker pauses or lingers on a word or phrase, he does so that he himself, or that others, may have more time in which to think of it. The giving of a different relative time to different words causes, in poetry, what is termed metre or measure. We may take a hint from this term, and say that the relative time apportioned to a word indicates the m,ind's measurement of it, — repre- sents the speaker's judgment as to the amount of meaning or importance that it conveys. Pitch. When, either abruptly, as in the emphatic slides, or gradually, as in unemphatic passages, the voice passes up or down the scale, or continues on one key, it does so because the mind of the speaker is impelled to open, close or continue the consideration of an idea that has been broached (§ 43). The melody of the movement taken by the voice represents, therefore, like melody in music, the mind's motive, — indicates its purpose in using the particu- lar phraseology to which the melody is applied; and because pitch, through the kinds of inflections and melody chosen, reveals the motives, we shall find that the use of this element in ordinary conversation is constantly causing precisely the same phraseology to express entirely opposite meanings (§§ 63-66). Force. When one uses different degrees and kinds of force with a word, he does so because he conceives that, in connection with the idea that it expresses, there is more or less demand for exertion. Hence, Force indicates the mind's activity, — represents the kind or degree of mental energy. Volume. When natural causes have such an effect upon utterance as to close, choke, or expand the throat — as in whispering, the guttural sound, or wailing, — it is because one's excitement, one's feelings, have mastered him. Vol- 22 THE SPEAKER. ume, or the qualities of the voice, therefore, which are determined by just such actions of the throat, represent the degree or kind of mental feeling . Of course, to some extent, all the departments of mind are enlisted in the use of each of these elements of empha- sis ; but when considering that which each is particularly- adapted to represent, it may be said that time represents the judgment, pitch the motives, force the energy, and the quality of the voice the feelings. Besides this, it may be said that while the special em- phasis used with an individual word represents some special conception of the speaker with reference to it, the general emphasis given to clauses and sentences represents the combined influence of many special conceptions, i.e. his general state of mind, or his inoods. FOUNDATION EXERCISE IN DECLAMATION. EMPHASIS. SEE PAGE 9. The war must go on. We must fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off longer the declaration of independence t That measure will strengthen us : it will give us character abroad. If -we fail, it can be no worse for us. But we shall not fail. The cause will raise up armies ; the cause will create navies. The people, the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle. Sir, the declaration will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities held under a British king, set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the breath of life. Through the thick gloom of the present I see the brightness of the future, as the sun in heaven. We shall make this a glorious, an immoe- TAL day. When we are in our graves our children will honor it. They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, -with festivity , with bon-Jires and illuminations. On its annual return they will shed tears, copious, gushing tears, — not of subjection and slavery, — not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gbatitudb, and of jot. Note. — Emphasis in general is here denoted by italics. Later, italics and marks will denote the particular mode of emphasis. TIME. 23 LESSON IV. TIME. Time, representing, as has been said, the speaker's judg- ment with reference to the amount of meaning or impor- tance in an expression, involves, as applied to single words, a use or omission of what are termed elocutionary pauses, and, as applied to series of words, slow or fast rates of movement. In this book, the relative length of pauses is indicated by perpen- dicular lines of a half length i , full length | , or doubled ||. § 35. Elocutionary Pauses, with cessations of sound, should be made before or after ; or the voice should dwell on all words that introduce into the general sense special impor- tance, information, oic peculiarity. (§§ 2, 12, 140.) a. Pauses are not often made before words, because most of these are preceded by an article, preposition, or qualifier that cannot, except for extraordinary emphasis, be separated from them; e.g. One half | of the whole | was the whole | of his claim. b. They are usually made after words, and must be made there when these contain short vowels and consonant sounds that cannot be prolonged without a drawl ; e.g. Up, I sluggard, | up! | Wicked, | debilitated | wretch! | Fickle | fop! c. When a word contains one or more long vowels or consonant- sounds that can be prolonged, the voice dwells on it, with or without ii cessation of the sound at its close. This makes delivery legato rather than staccato (§ 39); e.g. Wailing, | and woe, | and grief, | and fear, | and pain. 24 THE SPEAKER. § 36. Besides making delivery rhythmical and so natv.ral (see § 26, — hence called Harmonic Pauses), these pauses allow time for breathing, for giving slides, stress and full quantity, 3,nd for uttering the important words (hence called Rhetorical Pauses) that give the clew to the meaning of a passage with distinctness (see § 40). In addition to this, they have more to do than changes in pitch or force,with preventing monotony. They introduce light and shade into delivery. The foreground for important ideas is slower time ; while, in contrast with this, faster time keeps unimportant ideas in the background. a. These pauses depend on the seiise, not on the gr-am- matical construction ; so they may or may not be used where there are marks of punctuation. b. Sometimes it is impossible to render the sense without bringing in the pause, e. g. (see, also, § 97: a. ; § 140: a ) — 1. Let that plebeian || talk; 'tis not || my || trade. 2. Daily || with souls that cringe and plot We Sinais climb || and know it i| not. § 37. According to the general principle (§35) a slight pause usually stands between the predicate of a sentence and its subject, arid also its object (unless these are pronouns) ; and after emphatic adjectives, adverbs, prepositions (but these latter are very seldom emphatic) and conjunctions, especially but; e.g. The people | will carry | us | gloriously through | this struggle. He is pleasing, | but || is he honest? a. Be especially careful to pause after Adjectives that are essential to the sense of the nouns they qualify ; e.g. Instead of chartered | immunities, | held under a British | king, || set before them | the glorious | object [ of entire | independence. b. Never pause long on words whose importance depends on what follows; not thus, e.g.. Thousands || of them | that love | me. § 38. I" emphasizing by the pause, there is a natural tendency to group or mass words together (see §§ 152, 153), the less important around the more important, and to consider each phrase thus formed as a unit, i.e., as one long word of many syllables. Such a group has in it no full pauses ; but, to separate it from other groups. TIME. 25 a. A Pause usually precedes and follows every qualify- ing, relative, parenthetical, or independent phrase, clause, or sentence ; every simile or quotation, and every separate paragraph; e.g. Mr. Burke, 1| who was no ' friend | to popular ' excitement, — 1| who was no ' ready ' tool | of agitation, || no hot- ' headed ' enemy | of existing ' establishments, |1 no undervaluer | of the wisdom ' of our ancestors, || no scoffer | against institutions ' as they are, — 1| has said, || and it deserves ' to be fixed | in letters ' of gold | over the hall ' of every ' assembly | which calls itself ' a legislative ' body, — 1| "Where there is abuse, | there ought ' to be clamor; |i because ' it is better | to have our slumber | broken ' by the fire ' -bell, || than to perish ' amid the flames, | in our bed!" For other examples of the pause, see § 28: c; § 140 : a; §§ 150, 151, 226; 117, 120; and §§211-219: 1, 3, 12. b. For a similar reason a pause occurs wherever there is an ellipsis, or words are omitted. O G6d, II — to clasp | those fingers | close || And yet | to feel | so 16nely ! § 40. Movement changes with every transition of meaning or new paragraph, — becoming slovr to represent what moves slowly,^ or to emphasize what introduces special importance,'^ information ^ or peculiarity ^ into the general sense; and becoming fast to represent wliat moves rapidly,^ or to slight what is comparatively valueless^ or is known, ' acknowledged, ^ forestalled, ^ or repetitious, ^^ whether in the way of statement^^ or sequence.^'^ (§§ 18, 32, 140.) Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had Moderately Slow, 3. -j sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — . For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore — Nameless here for evermore. 26 THE SPEAKEE. Slow, 1. Fast, 5. Slower, 1, 2, 3. Slow, 1-4. i^'ast, 5. Slow, 2, 3. faster, 10, 11. Slow, 2, 3. Ji'asier, 10, 12. Slow, 2, 3, 4. Faster, 6. S^oio, 2, 3. Faster, 10, 11. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea. The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone. He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him ; and without him was not anything made that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men. There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe. He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light. § 41. The following, respectively, introduce special im- portance, information and peculiarity into the general sense, and so are uttered slowly. The dogmatic, didactic. For the eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and his ears are open unto their prayers ; but the face of the Lord is against them that do evil. TIME. 27 The detailed, circumstantial. Jesus answered and said unto them, Go and show John again those things which ye do hear and see: the blind receive tlieir siglit, and tlie lame walls; the lepers are cleansed, and the deaf hear, etc. The strange, -ro-onderf ul. I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy couch, and go unto thine house. And immediately he rose up before them, and took up that whereon he lay, and departed to his own house, glorifying God. And they were all amazed, and they glorified God, and were filled with fear, saying. We have seen strange things to-day. § 42. Quotations, Illustrations, and all Parenthetical or Qualifying Clauses are preceded and followed by a, pause, and are uttered sloiver or faster according to the general principle (§ 40) ; e.g. Dearly beloved, avenge not yourself, but rather give place unto wrath, for it is written, Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord. Te have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, That ye resist not evil. Slower, 2, 3, 4. Faster, 6, 10. Slower, 2, 3, 4. Slower, 2, 3. Faster, 5, 6. Slower, 2. Faster, 6. The spiritual warrior, like the young candi- date for knighthood, may be none the worse for his preparatory ordeal of watching all night by his armor. SAs a fountain casteth out her waters, so she casteth out her wickedness. (Bead, also, §§ 226- 228.) Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering (for lie is faithful that prom- ised), and let us consider one another, to pro- voke unto love and to good works. He girt his fisher's coat unto him, — for he was naked, — and did cast himself into the sea. In connection with changes in movement, study particu- larly § 28: b, c ; massing or grouping, ?§ 152, 153 ; transi- tions, §§ 147-151; elements in combination, §§ 140-144, and the examples under each; also §§ 221-226. 28 THE SPEAKER. FOUNDATION EXERCISE IN DECLAMATION. TIME. SEE PAGE 9. The war | must go on. We must fight it | through. And if the war I must go on, | why put off longer \ the declaration of independ- ence? That measure | will strengthen us: it will give us character || abroad. If we fail \ it can be no worse \ for us. But we sliall not \ fail. The cause | will raise up | armies ; \ the cause | will create | navies. The people, \ the people, | if we are true to them | will carry us, \ and will carry themselves, | gloriously | through \ this struggle. Sir, | the declaration | will inspire the people | with in- creased II courage. Instead of a long \ and bloody \ war \\ for restora- tion I of privileges, | for redress \ of grievances, j for chartered | immunities | held under a British king, || set before them | the glori- ous I object I of ENTIRE I INDEPENDENCE, || and it will breathe into them anew \ the breath of life. Through the thick | gloom of the present \ I see the brightness of the future, | as the sun \ in heaven. AVe shall make this a glorious, \ an iMMO]tTAL I day. When we \ are in our graves \ our children \ will honor it. They will celebrate it | with thanksgiving, \ with festiv- ity, I with bon-Jires \ a)id illuminations. On its annual return | they will shed | tears, || copious, j gushing tears, — not | of subjection | and slavery, — j not of agony and distress, — | but of exultation, | of gratitude, I and of joy. LESSON V. PITCH. INFLECTIONS : EMPHATIC SLIDES. § 43. Elocutionary Inflections, like Pauses, depend on the sense. a. So they are not always determined by marks of punc- tuation, nor by the limits of a grammatical sentence. They do not always rise, for example, where there is a (?), nor fall where there is a (.) PITCH. 29 b. Pitch, as we have found (§ 32), represents the men- tal motive. In giving the changes in pitch peculiar to the inflections, the voice rises when moved to open and falls to close a sentence, if the sense opens and closes where the sen- tence does ; e.g. If so, I will g6. c. But if the sense does not open and close where the sentence does, this is not the case ; e.g. I will gb, if so. Will you go ? N6, I wbn't, if be wails a year. IN GIVING ELOCUTIONAKY EMPHASIS, d. The voice rises for the purpose of opening up or broaching an idea; i.e., to point away from utterances, when they are merely anticipative or indecisive, in the sense of being in themselves subordinate, insignificant, trite, nega- tive, or questionable, as contrasted with something that is expected to be, or has been, expressed by the falling in- flection. (See §§ 47-66.) e. The voice falls for the purpose of closing or com- pleting an idea ; i.e., to point to, or point out utterances that are final or decisive, in the sense of being interesting, important, noteworthy, affirmative, or positive, in them- selves. It falls, e.g., whenever it gives its sentence, in the sense either of having satisfactorily finished the expression of a sentiment or of having uttered something sententiously. {See §§ 48-66.) f. The voice sometimes, on an emphatic word, neither rises nor falls, because the mind is in a mood neither anti- cipative nor decisive, but in mere neutral suspense ; e.g. To die ; — to slefep ; — To sleep ? Perchance to drfeam. 30 THE SPEAKER. g. The voice sometimes, on an emphatic word, both rises and falls, because the mind wishes to express the ideas rep- resented by the movement of the voice in each of these directions. This gives us the circumflex or wave. {See §§ 67-74.) § 44. Successful Oratory is always characterized by a habit of using liberally the falling inflection or bend, because a. This interests an audience by conveying the impression that the objects or ideas mentioned are in themselves interesting, impor- tant, etc. b. It convinces and persuades an audience, by conveying the impression tliat tlie speaker is malting affirmations about which he is positive. c. It keeps control of an audience, by causing the speaker to seem to keep control of himself. Notwithstanding the high pitcli to which excitement may occasionally carry one's voice, a frequent use of the downward inflection has a constant tendency to bring the voice down to a lower key, in which one seems to have control of his faculties. When delivery is not thus broken by frequent returns to a more normal key, the rising inflections carry the voice higher and higher, into a tone from which it seems impossible to descend, and from which everything suggestive of self-mastery, or of the mastery of one's subject, is eliminated. In fact, almost all false tones in delivery are connected in some way with a disregard of the falling inflection. "Do not suppose, liowever, that giving the falling inflection necessarily involves letting the voice fall on a word as though it ended a paragraph. On this subject .%tudy carefully §§ 75-77. § 45. Method of giving the Emphatic Slide. a. The slide always begins on the accented syllable of a word. Where this is followed by syllables secondarily accented, it is con- tinued downward or upward on them; e.g. He did it inconsiderately. Inconsiderately ? That is an impossi- bility. b. This principle is particularly noticeable when giving the cir- cumflex. In the following, in Italy, the I and y together receive the same inflection as the e in Greece : PITCH. 31 I should feel ashfimed of an enthusiasm for Jtal^ and GrSece, did I not also feel it for a land like this. o. Notice, also, that while 7 receives Initial Stress and y Terminal, the e in Greece receives Compound Stress. (See §§ 100, 101, 103.) d. When the slide is given on a single syllable, the voice must pass distinctly through several intervals of pitch; and not merely to a pitch different from that sounded in the syllable uttered before it. § 46. The Length of the Emphatic Slide, in ascending or descending the scale, depends upon the quantity and quality of the Emphasis that it is desired to give. The final inflection of a clause or sentence, rising or falling through the in- terval only of a semitone, is chiefly plaintive, and expresses melancholy, dejec- tion, and subdued grief or pathos. If the falling inflection descends through the interval of a tone (or a musical second), it conveys simply the logical completion of the meaning of a clause or sentence, but without any passion or feeling being expressed. If the.inflection rises through the interval of a tone, it merely shows that the logical meaning of the clause or sentence is in progress of development, but conveys no emotion. If the rising inflection is carried through the interval of a tone and a half (or in music a minor third), the inflection becomes strongly plaintive, and characterizes all pathetic appeals ; while, if the inflection falls to the same extent, it marks all assertions with an air of grief and lamentation. If the voice rises through an interval of two tones (or a major third), it ex- presses strongly doubt, appeal, and inquiry, and if it falls in the same degree it conveys strong assertion. When the voice rises through the greater intervals of the musical fifth, or, still more, the interval of the octave, it expresses earnest appeal, wonder, amazement, and exclamation ; while if it falls through these in- tervals it expresses the strongest conviction, command, reprehension, hate, and all the sterner passions. A similar increase of meaning or emotion characterizes the extent to which the rising or falling circumflexes may be carried in those cases where they are specially applicable. — King's College Lectures on Elocution, C. J. Plumptre. Sufficient has been said to enable the student to understand the following diagrams, in which (from pp. 32-41) inflections with opposite meanings are arranged vis-h-vis on opposite pages. 32 THE SPEAKER. § 47. RISING INFLECTION. — Opening the sense, where the thought is anticipative and the expression of it indecisive, points forward or away from an object or idea emphasized by it, because this (as explicitly or implicitly contrasted with something that is to be or has been mentioned) is conceived of as in itself. § 49. ANTICIPATIVE ; e.g. Instead of a long and bloody war for restoration of privileges, for redrfiss of grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, ^S°- ^ ; The noisy g^ese that gabbled o'er the pool, -w / The playful children just let 16ose from school; The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind. And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; These all in sweet confusion sought tlie shade. And filled each pause the nightingale had made. The gay will laugh When thou art gone; the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall Ifeave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thfee. His lordship's orthography is a little loose, but several of I his equals countenance the custom. Lord Loggerhead always I spells physician with an F'. In sarcasm. — So you despise me, Mr. Gigadibs. In concessions. — There are wild theories abroad. I will not say I have none. (See § 212.) In repeated words that introduce no importance, etc., into the sense. — Fellow-citizens, the enemy have c6nie and we must march against them. They have come, fellow-citizens, to ^desolate our fields. They have come to sack our cities. §51. INDECISIVE; e.g., I know not what course others may take, Jliy ,; / Of which the positive is sometimes expressed. — Men are .& I not gods, but properly aro brutes. 6d I Sometimes only implied. — Thou canst not be relentless. ^ \ It certainly would be a strange thing if this were true, and " 1 all the efforts of the past should prove to have been in vain. o \ There/ore in supplication. — ■§ J Say that thou dost not hate me. Say it to me, Th^kla! a I O God ! I cannot leave this spot — I cannot ! .2 I Cannot let go this hand. tell me, Thekla! "m I That thou dost suffer with me, art convinced § \ Tliat I cannot act otherwise. . , §76. a. Reasons. When thus given, It does not interrupt the on- ward flow of the general movement. Therefore, in connection with regularly recurring pauses or rhythm, this way of starting rising in- flections low, and falling inflections high, causes that Important factor in holding the attention of an audience called drift (§ 154). All suc- cessful speakers manifest this characteristic when excited. The trained elocutionist should manifest it at all times. In the following, falling inflections can be given on all the words marked (§ 50) without interfering at all with the buoyancy and swing of the general movement: When Freedom, from her mbuntain height, Unfurl'd her stS,ndard to the air. She tore the azure rbbe of night. And set the st&,rs of gl6ry thfere ; She mingled with its gorgeous dyes The milky billdric of the skies, And striped its piire, celestial white With streakings of the morning light; Thfen from his mansion in the sun She call'd her eS,gle-bfearer down, And gJlve into his mighty hand The symbol of her chosen land. PITCH. 43 b. Again, ease and audibleness (especially in bringing out dis- tinctly the word emphasized by the downward inflection) are both facilitated by starting to slide the voice up from a comparatively low key, and to slide it down from a comparatively Jdgh key. o. Besides this, the downward movement indicates, as we have found (§ 43: e), an affirmation of positive importance. When used, therefore, on the syllables preceding or starting the rising inflec- tion, it arrests attention by suggesting an affirmative state of mind, dealing with something of positive importance, notwithstanding the negative or questioning significance of the inflection itself. Again, the upTvard movement of the voice indicates anticipation, subor- dination (§43: d), etc. When used, therefore, on the syllables pre- ceding or starting the falling inflection, it holds the attention by suggesting that something of still greater importance is to follow, notwithstanding the relative importance of that now emphasized by the inflection itself. Every one recognizes that the down-ward inflection started high is not the concluding word of a speech or paragraph ; but if started low, the clause or sentence that it ends seems to be isolated from what is to follow. d. But occasionally, at the end of a speech, paragraph, or sen- tence that sums up or concludes a particular phase of a subject, the rising or falling of syllables preceding the one on which the inflection starts serves to increase the effect of its rising or falling emphasis. 77, As accent is an elementary form of emphasis, the princi- ples stated apply to it. Ordinarily, in a passage where there is a, general tendency to rising inflections, the accented syllable is on a lower key than it would be if it were unaccented, and where there is a tendency to falling inflections it is on a higher key. But occasion- ally, as in the case of the emphatic inflection, this condition is re- versed. a. Here all the rising inflections start on a lower key than the preceding syllable : la any man so weak as now to hdpe for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or safety to his 6wn life and his own honor ? Ire not you, sir, who sit in that chair, — is not he, our venerable colleague near you, — are not both already proscribed and predestined objects of plinishment and of vengeance ? 44 THE SPBAKEK. b. Here all the falling inflections start on a higher key than the preceding syllable : I say God bless ad - vers - i - ty when it is properly underst5od ! But the rock upon which men and upon which nations split is PBOspiRiTY. This man says that we have grown to be a giant, and that we may depart from the wisdom of our youth. But I say that now is the time to take care ; we are great enough ; let us be satisfied ; prevent the growth of our ambition, to pre- vent our pride from swelling, and hold on to what we have got. c. Here the last vising inflection is started on a higher key than the preceding syllable: Shall I compare myself, almost born, and certainly bred, in the tent of my father, that ilMstrious commander, — my- self, the conqueror not only of the Alpine nations but of the Xlps themselves, — myself, who was the plipil of you all, before I became your commander, — to this six mdnths' general ? or shall I compare his ar - my with mine? d. Here the last falling inflection is started on a lower key than the preceding syllable: We yielded to their prayers for pardon; we released them from the blockade ; we made peace with them when conquered, and we afterward held them under our protec- tion when they were borne :^5s- down by the Af - ri - c e. Here the rising inflection on natims begins on a higher key, and the falling one on ours on a lower key, than the preceding syllable: Shall I be told these are idle f6ars ? That in a war with Eiissia, no mdtter for what caiSse wdged, we must be the PITCH. 45 vfctors ? That, in sh6rt, 611 Etirope combined could not blot this Union from the map of nations ? Ah, sir, that is not S,ll I f^ar. I fear success even m6re than defeat. The Senator from Michigan was right when he said that our fears were to be found at home. I dd fear ourselves. Commit our people once to unnecessary f6reign wdrs, — let victory encourage the military spirit, already too prevalent am6ng them, — and Roman history will have no chapter bloody enough to be transmitted to posterity side by side with oUrs. For Melody, Monotone, Variety, see Orator's Manual, §§ 78-95. Key. § 96. Light, gay, lively or uncontrolled states of mind find expression in a key comparatively high; serious, grave, dig- nified or self-determined states in a key comparatively low. (§§ 32, 140-145.) For illustrations of this principle see §§ 143, 144, 145-153. Prac- tise the exercises on p. 46. Special attention needs to be given to the difficult matter of transi- tions in pitch, treated in §§ 147-151, which see. § 97. A common fault is to invariably fly to high pitch, as well as to rapid time, when passing to a very emphatic or forcible word, even when this expresses an idea rela- tively more serious, grave, dignified, or self-determined. a. The downward inflections in words like those in italics in the following examples should be started slightly, if at all, higher (and sometimes lower) than the general pitch; and in all cases the voice should pause before or after them, and utter them slowly. The longer the pause, the higher and louder will it be proper to utter the word following it. I saw The corse, | the mangled corse, | and then I cried Forvgngeance!||,i?oMse, llyeEdmans! | J?oMse, || ye slkves ! | Have ye brave s6ns ? Look in the next fierce brawl To see them I die. \\ 46 THE SPEAKER. I'm with you once again ! — I call to you With all my | voice — | I hold my hands to you, To show they still are | free. \ I | rush \ to you As though I could | embrace you ! VOCAL EXERCISES IN PITCH AND TIME. Pitch and Time. (§§ 36-96.) Practise with differenl degrees of loudness and kinds of stress, with long and short slides in sIotit and fast time, the following inflections, and also the examples under a, b, c, d, h, i, and §§ 39-42. In the following the small preliminary note, in connection with each inflec- tion, represents a slight slide of the voice that occasionally, especially in connec- tion with terminal or median stress, precedes the real inflection. This makes the voice in the downward inflection, for instance, move thus (a or V) rather than (\or/). a. Falling Inflection. "b ah ah aw aw ' aw oh oh It's a gl6rious, a splendid project! It's ab6minable, m6nstrous, kwful ! b. Rising Inflection. i^^i^^^ oh oh aw aw aw 'ah "^ ^h Indeed, is it so ? Did he say s6, and to y6u ? c. Falling Circumflex. oh oh oh oh aw aw "all ati Oh, you meant no harm, — oh, n6, y&u are piire. d. Rising Circumflex. oh oU~ ah ah ah -ill that I live by is the awl. e. Practise the scale both up and down with a long median swell on each note. This exercise, especially with 00, will also cultivate ^wre quality. PITCH. 47 ^^^-=r- pp A — ^— ^^ CJ =^- —^ m T^ — — e -^ — — »■- — s — ab ah ah ah -S- aw aw — ^ — aw oh Oh oh &^ ffi— — — — ^— c^ - -^ — s" — f. Sound alternately a /iiiyft then a lo\o ah, avr, or oh. Develop low tones by practising a low g, d, or b consonant ele- ment, or low whispered u in up ; high tones by using them. Kever practise too high. g. Base or contralto voices should gain perfect command of musi- cal notes between mid e and g. Tenors and sopranos between mid g and b. h. Kead the following, beginning low, and gradnally ascending the scale on each syllable, and ending with the rising inflection: Do you mean to tell me that you could have thought that I could go all around town and tell everybody that I happened to meet that I could believe such a mean story about you as that ? i. Bead the same, beginning high, and gradually descending to a falling inflection. Also, Start high, To the deep, (descend) d6wn, (Descend) To the deep, (descend) d6wn, low, Through the shades of sleep ; Through the cloudy strife gradually. Of death and of life ; Through the veil and the bdr rising, Of things that seem and dre ; high, Even to the steps of the remotest throne, lower, D6v?n ! lower, d6wn ! low, d6wn ! Practise exercises in §§ 149-151; § 97; § 92: a, b, c. 48 THE SPEAKEE. FOUNDATION EXERCISE IN DECLAMATION. . INFLECTIONS. SEE PAGE 9. \ Downward slide. / Upward slide. "^ Downward inning high. — -< Upward beginning low. ^^ Cir- cumflex ending with Rising Inflection, w Circumflex ending with Falling Inflection. This declamation, with the marks indicating the inflections, will be found on page 89, and there is no necessity of inserting it here. In practising it, or in delivering or reading any selection, tlie student needs to be cautioned against a monotonous effect sometimes pro-' duced by starting at precisely tlie same pitch similar emphatic in- flections tliat are near together. Usually, one of the words thus emphasized is more important than the otliers, and, if so, a man who reads according to the sense will naturally start its inflection, if down- ward, on a key liigher than that given to the other words. But even when many words are equally important, there should be a difference in key for the sake merely of variety in tone. To apply this to the declamation on page 89, in uttering " The war must go on, We must fight it through" " The people, the people, if we are true to them," " Will carry us and will carry themselves," and "We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day," the last emphasized word in each pas- sage, though but slightly more important than the first, should be started on a decidedly higher key than it. Again, in uttering " When we are in our graves, our children will honor it," we and children, though but slightly more important, should be started on a higher key than graves and honor. As a rule, the general pitch of the voice at the opening of an ad- dress should be comparatively low, no liigher above the level of con- \ersation than is necessary to render it audible. It should then become varied, high or low to suit the various sentiments expressed. Lastly, a few sentences before the close, especially in long orations, it should return again to the level of conversation. This mode of clos- ing, especially after an emphatic climax, is very effective. Students who cannot give the downward inflection may, at first, attempt to accent each word necessitating a downward inflection as if the sentence ended on it. After they have acquired facility in doing this they can learn to start the downward inflection, it necessary, on a higher key (§§ 75-77). Beginners should use only the closing part of the circumflex, which, unless very emphatic, is not well given except when it is slightly given, and usually requires some cultivation of tlie voice. FORCE. 49 LESSON VII. FORCE. Special Fokce. § 98. Special Force, by which is meant the force that is used witli special syllables or words, may be abrupt or smooth, loud or soft. The kinds and degrees of force are considered in §§ 106-108. As a rule, a. Special Force should be used in the iittei-ance of all words that; are emphasized by pauses or hiflections, or that stand at the end of a sentence. (§§ 32, 35, 43, 140-145.) b. Be particularly careful to give Special Force to Adjectives empliasized by the pause that are essential to the sense of the nouns that they qualify; e.g. Its foundations, great | truths, far more lasting than mere I granite; its pillars, great \ rights, far more beautiful than mere \ porphyry ; its roof, great | hopes, swelling higher than any dome of bronze and gold. c. It is well to form a habit of giving more foice to the last word of a sentence, because (a) otherwise one is apt to let liis force subside on it, and utter it indistinctly ; (b) this last word is usually impor- tant to the sense;, its forcible utterance (c) conveys a suggestion of reserved power, by causing the audience to recognize that the speaker's breath is not exhausted, and (d) is almost essential if one is to start the last inflection of the sentence on a key suggesting that another sentence is to follow (§ 75). Stress. § 99. Stress is determined by the way in which force is applied to emphatic syllables. 0^° Practise the different kinds of stress, according to the directions on p. 62. a. Do not confound the method of stress with the degree of it. All kinds of stress may be given with a soft, as well as a loud, tone. ■ b. To use more force with an utterance necessitates using more 50 THE SPEAKBB. time with it; therefore, words emphasized by stress usually take longer time for their utterance than the words surrounding them talie. c. Mental Energy indicated by force (§ 32) may be exerted on account of a subjective or an objective motive; in other words, be- cause a man desires chiefly to express an idea on }iis own account, or to impress this on others. In the former case, the sound bursts forth abruptly, as if the man were conscious of nothing but his own organs to prevent the accomplishment of his object; in the latter the sound is pushed forth gradually, as if the man were conscious of outside opposition, and of the necessity of pressing his point. These two methods, and different combinations of them, give us the following different kinds of stress: § 100. Initial (or Radical) Stress >, usually necessitating explosive breathing (§ 3) or utterance (§ 7), is given vi^hen a syllable bursts forth abruptly, with its loudest sound at the beginning of the utterance, which gradually becomes more and more faint. It is used whenever one's main wish is to express himself so as to be distinctly understood. In its mildest form it serves to render articulation clear and utterance precise ; when stronger, it indicates bold and ear- nest assurance, positiveness, and dictation; when strongest, vehemence that sounds an alarm or gives way to demon- strative indignation. Of course the same passage may be read with different kinds of stress, according to one's conception of it. Ko. 6 below may be rendered with quick, vehement initial, or slow, determined terminal stress. Distinctions in Slide Balance (§§ 75-77) are also left to indi- vidual conception. Pure, moderately high, fast. 1. Give wky ! Zofinds ! I'm wild — mkd! You teach me ! Po6h ! I have been in London before, and know it requires no teaching to be a modern fine gentleman. Why, it all lies in a ndtshell : sport a clirricle — walk B6nd street — play the dandy — si'ng and dance well — go to the opera — put on your wig — pull off your overcoat, and there's a man of the first fashion in town for you. D'ye think I don't know what's g6ing ? FORCE. 51 Idem. 2. Why, yesterday, I asked a lad of fifteen which he preferred, algebra or geometry; and he told me — oh, hor- rible! he told me he had never stMied them! Never studied geometry ! never studied algebra ! and fifteen years old ! The dark kges are returning. Idem, moderately fast, medium pitch. 3. Life is short at the best ; why not make it cheerful ? Do you know that longevity is promoted by a tranquil, happy habit of thought and temper ? Do you know that cheerfulness, like mercy, is twice blessed; blessing "him that gives and him that takes " ? Orotund. 4. Back ! beardless boy ! Bkck ! m\nion ! Holdst thou thus at naught The lesson I so lately taught ? Aspirated guttural. 6. We will be revenged: revenge; ab6ut — seek — biirn, fire — kill — slkj I Let not a traitor live ! Guttural and aspirated orotund, medium pitch, explosive force. 6. You speak like a b6y, — like a boy who thinks the old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the sapling. Can I forget that I have been branded as an outlaw, stigmatized as a traitor, a price set on my head, as if I had been a wolf, my family treated as the dam and cubs of the hill-fox, whom all may torment, vilify, degrade and insult ; the very name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial ancestors denounced as if it were a spell to conjure up the devil with ? j!^= See, also, § 217 and §§ 211, 214, 217, 219. a. Without initial stress, gentleness becomes an inarticulate and timid draiul, and vehemence mere brawling bombast. With too fre- quent use of it, one's delivery becomes characterized by an appearance of self-assertion, assurance or preciseness. b. In order to prevent one form of what is termed a tone, initial stress should be given to the last word of a sentence ending with a 52 THE SPEAKER. downward Inflection not particularly emphatic, and therefors not re- quiring some other kind of stress {see § 87: a) ; e.g., on the word you in the following: There's a man of the first fashion in tbwn for you! § 101. Terminal (Final or Vanishing) Stress <, which may be used with both expulsive and explosive breathing (§ 3) or utterance (§ 7), is given when a syllable begins softly and gradually increases in force till it ends with its loudest sound, or an explosion. It is used whenever one's main wish is to impress his thoughts on others. It gives utter- ance, in its weakest form, to the whine or complaint of mere peevishness deinandinff consideration ; when stronger, to a pushing earnestness, persistency or determination ; in its strongest form, to a desire to cause others to feel one's own astonishment, scorn, or horror Pure medium pitch. 1. Nice clothes I get, too, traipsing through weather like this ! My gown and bonnet will be spoiled. Needn't I wear 'm then ? Indeed, Mr. Caudle, I shall wear 'em. No, sir ! I'm not going out a dowdy to please you or any- body else. Gracious knows ! it isn't often that I step over the threshold. Slightly aspirated orotund. 2. I did send to you For certain sums of gold, which you denied me ; For I can raise no money by vile means : By heaven ! I had rather coin my heart. And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring From the hard hands of peasants their vile trdsh By any indirection. I did send To you for gold to pay my legions, Which you denied me : was that done like Cassius ? Should I have answered Caius Cassius so ? FORCE. 63 Orotund. 3. Blkze, with your serried columns ! I will not bend the knee ! The shkckles ne'er again shall bind The arm which now is free. I've mkiled it with the thunder, When the tempest muttered low ; And where it falls, ye well may dread The lightning of its blow ! Idem. 4. Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invin- cible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Idem. 5. I am ast6nished, sh6cked, to hear such principles con- fessed, — to hear them avowed in this House, or even in this coimtry ; — principles equally unconstitutional, in- human, and unchristian ! Strongly aspirated orotund and guttural. 6. Turning out The Roman from his birthright ; and for what ? To fling your ofRces to every slave — Vipers that creep where man disdains to climb ; And having wound their loathsome track to the top Of this huge mouldering monument of Rome, Hang hissing at the nobler man below. 2®= See, also, §§ 211-219. a. Without terminal stress, there can be no representation of childish -weakness or obstinacy, or of manly strength or resolu- tion ; used too exchisively, or excessively, it causes delivery to be characterized by an appearance of wilfulness, depriving it of the qualities of persuasion that appeal to the sympathies. § 102. Median Stress O, used generally with effusive but sometimes with expulsive breathing (§ 3) or utterance 54 THE SPEAKER. (§ 7), is given when a syllable is loudest in the middle of its utterance and begins and ends softly. It is used when- ever one's desire to impress a thought on others is matched by a desire to express it on his own account. That which begins, therefore, to be a Terminal Stress < does not end with a loud sound or explosion, but gradually subsides as it dies away in the form appropriate for Initial Stress >. For this reason the Terminal Stress used in most oratory passes into Median Stress in passages characterized by strong feeling in view of the eloquence of the thought (see §§ 215, 219) ; and the latter stress is especially appropriate in uttering the language of poetry and devotion (see §§ 92- 95). In its effusive form it may indicate either exultation or dejection in consideration of the beautiful, sublime, or pathetic ; in its stronger, mainly expulsive form, admiration, adoration, enthusiasm, self-confident command, comviendation or disapprobation. Pure medium pitch. 1. Listen cl6ser. When you have done With woods and cornfields and grazing herds, A lady, the loveliest ever the sun Looked d6wn 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 ! Orotund, high. 2. O joy to the people, and joy to the throne, C6me to us, love us, and make us your 6wn : For Saxon or Dane or Norman we. Teuton or Celt, or whatever we hi, We are each kll Dane in our welcome of thee, Alexandra ! FORCE. 55 Idem, moderately high. 3. Oh ! sing unto the Lord a new song ; for he hath done marvellous things : his right hand and his holy arm hath gotten him the victory. Make a j6yful n6ise unto the Lord, all the earth: make a 16ud noise, and rej6ice, and sing prkise. Sing unto the Lord with the hkrp ; with the harp, and the voice of a psklm. Idem, low. 4. Of old hast thou laid the foundation of the earth ; and the heavens are the work of thy hknds. They shall perish, but thou shalt endure ; yea, all of them shall wax 61d like a garment ; as a vesture shalt thou change them, and they shall be chknged : but thou art the skme, and thy years shall have no 6nd. Idem, moderately high. 5. Oh divine, oh delightful legacy of a spotless reputa- tion ! Can there be conceived a more atrocious injury than to filch from its possessor this inestimable benefit; to rob society of its charm, and solitude of its solace ; not only to outlaw life, but to attaint death, converting the very grave, the refuge of the sufferer, into the gate of infamy and of shame ? See, also, § 92: c; §§ 95, 108, 112, 218, 219, 222-225. a. This stress corresponds to the swell in music, and characterizes successive words as well as single ones, giving to whole passages a gliding and graceful as distinguished from an abrupt and harsh effect. It is especially adapted for an address to the sympathies, but used too exclusively it may lead to what is termed mouthing. The monot- onous chanting effect, sometimes called the pious tone, results largely from a habit of using a long loud median in cases where terminal stress woiild be appropriate. In emphatic passages one should be careful to stop the sound when at its loudest. § 103. Compound Stress, beginning like Initial and ending like Terminal X ; and sometimes, in passages character- ized by Terminal Stress, both beginning and ending like Terminal « ; and in each form beginning loud and end- 56 THE SPEAKEB. ing loud, with its softest part in the middle, is used in its first form, X, for a combination of the ideas conveyed by Initial and Terminal Stress ; i.e. when one wishes both to express and to impress his thoughts, also for vehement determination, or demonstrative astonishment or horror. In both of its forms it is used wherever there are lonij emphatic, especially circumflex, slides, both the beginning and the end of which it seems important to bring out with distinctness ; therefore, usually upon words express- ing comparisons and contrasts, especially on those ex- pressing irony, sarcasm and contem,ptuous mochery. In the following extracts the Compound Stress falls on the words in italics. Slightly aspirated orotund, sustained force. 1. Are you really prepared to determine, but not to hear, the mighty cause upon which hang a nation's hopes and fears ? You are ? Then beware of your decision ! By all you hold most dear, — by all the ties that bind every one of us to our common 6rder and our common c6untry, I solemnly adjure you, — I warn you, — I implore you, — yea on my bended knees I supplicate you, — reject not this bill ! Idem. 2. You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things ! O you hard hearts ! you cruel men of Rome ! Know you not Pdmpey ? many a time and 6ft Have you climbed up to walls and battlements. To towers and windows, yea to chlraney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day with patient expectation. To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome ; And do you now put on your best attire ? And do you now cull out a holiday ? And do you now strew flowers in his way That comes to triumph over Pompey's blood ? Begone FORCE. 57 Pure, high, sustained force, varied melody. 3. " The birds can fly, an' why can't /.'' Must we give in," says he with a grin, " That the bluebird an' pheebe are smarter'n we be ? " Pure, high, varied melody. 4. The meaning of Meek she never knew, But imagined the phrase had something to do With " Moses," a peddling German Jew, Who, like all hawkers, the country through Was a person of no position : And it seemed to her exceedingly pldin, If the word was really known to pertain To a vulgar German, it wasn't germane, To a lady of high condition ! Idem. 5. Fal. I call thee cdward ! I'll see thee hanged ere I call thee coward ; but I would give a thousand pound I could rUn as fast as ih6u canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders ; you care not who sees your b&ck. Call you that backing of your friends ? A plague upon such backing ! Medium pitch, orotund and guttural. 6. What's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I Idathe ? " Tried and convicted trditor ! " — wh6 says this ? Who'll prove it, at his pgril, on my head ? Banished ? I thank you f or't ! It breaks my chain I I held some slack allegiance till this hour, — But now my sword's my own. See, also, §§ 211, 212, 213. a. This stress is especially effective on a long slide made on a single syllable that ends a word: e.g. I supplicate you, I implore you. The syllables that follow the inflection on supplicate prevent our using the Coinpoimd Stress on that (see § 4.t : b, c). It will be noticed, 58 THE SPEAKER. also, that the same principle sometimes prevents our using Com- pound Stress even where we have the circumflex (§ 45: c). b. Used excessively, Compound Stress makes delivery seem some- times snappish, and sometimes overdone, in the matter of emphasis. § 104. Thorough Stress, a strong stress throughout the syllable, is sometimes described as a combination of Initial, Median and Terminal, XX, but, as given by a flexible culti- vated voice, it perhaps might better be described as a very strong form of Median Stress. In either case, it vpould begin and end loud, and indicate a combination of the ideas conveyed by Initial, Median, and Terminal; i.e. positive- ness, push and feeling, all together ; therefore, rapturous tri- umph, vehement appeal, lofty command, indignant disdain or soul-stirring agony. Moderately high aspirated orotund. 1. The world recedes ; it disappears ! Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings I I mount! Iflyt grave ! where is thy victory ? death ! where is thy sting ? High orotund, explosive sustained force. 2. Cheer answer cheer, and bear the cheer ab6ut. Hurrkh, hurrah, for the fiery fort is ours ! " Victory, victory, victory ! " Idem. 3. F6rward, through blood and toil and cloud and fire ! G16rious the sh6ut, the shbck, the crash of steel. The volley's rbll, the rocket's blasting spire ! They shsike ; like broken wkves their squares retire. 6n them, hussars ! Now give them rein and heel ! Idem. 4. Some to the common pMj) its / and cry out " Liberty, freedom and enfranch.isem,ent ! " POKCE. 59 Low aspirated pectoral. 5. Poison be their drink ; Gall, wdrse than gall, the ddintiest meat they t&,ste ; Their siveetest shade a grove of cypress trees ; Their sweetest prospects, murdering basilisks ; Their softest touch as smart as lizards' stings, Their Ttiusio frightful as the serpent^ s hiss. And boding screech-o-w\s make the concert full With the foul terrors of dark-seated Hell. As a rule, this stress needs to be more avoided than cultivated. Except when used with discrimination, its inflexibility, devoid of the graceful and delicate tones characterizing other forms of stress, ren- ders it a disagreeable mannerism, suggesting, when employed on the stage, rudeness and vulgarity. § 105. Tremulous Stress (so called) is hardly a form of stress, but a trembling movement of the voice produced in the throat, and characterizing a whole passage rather than the emphatic words in the passage. It indicates exhaus- tion, whether it come from age, sickness, weakness, or an excess of emotion, either of joy or of grief. Puce, medium pitcli. 1. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your d6or. Pure, medium pitch, moderate time. 2. If you're waking, call me 6arly, cdll me early, mother dekr, For I would see the stin rise upon the glad New Year. It is the list New Year that I shall ever see, Then you may lay me low i' the motild, and think no m6re of me. Orotund, medium pitch. 3. Have mercy upon me, G6d, according to thy lov- ing-kindness : according unto the multitude of thy tender mercies, blot out my transgressions ! Wash me th5roughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I 60 THE SPEAKER. ackn6wledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever bef&re me. Against thSe, thee 6uly have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight. Hide thy fkce from my sins, and blot 6ut 1,11 mine iniquities ! High, pure, aspirated, fast. 4. You must wake and call me early, call me ekily, mother dear ; To-morrow'll be the h3,ppiest time of all the glad New Year ; Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, mer- riest day ; For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. General Force. § 106. By this is meant the force that characterizes series of words in phrases or sentences, rather tlian single words oi- syllables. It may be divided, according to the kind of mental energy (§ 32) that it ex- presses, into abrupt and smooth force ; according to the degree of this energy, into loud and soft force. § 107. Abrupt Force is used when there is an excess of energy, which seems to have a constant tendency, as it were, to burst through the form. If this excess come from a great degree of excitement, or of irritation, as in rage, horror, detestation, etc., we have a.. Loud Abrupt Force, low key, expelled from abdomen. Dost thou come here to whIne ? To OUTFACE me by leaping in her grave ? Be bueied quick with her, and so will I. And if thou prate of mountains, — let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground Singeing his pate, against THE BURNING ZONE, MAKE OSSA LIKE A WART. Nay, an' thou'lt mouth, I'll RANT as well as thdu. FORCE. 61 If the excess of energy comes from a slight degree of excitation, or from mere exuberance of spirit, as In laughing mirth, raillery, etc., we have b. Soft Abrupt Force, uttered usually with a high, discrete varied melody (§ 92 : a) and pure quality. Now o'er a chair he gets a fall ; now floundering for- wards with a jerk, he bobs his nose against the wall ; and now encouraged by a subtle fancy that they're near the door, he jumps behind it to explore, and breaks his shins against the scuttle; crying, at each disaster — "Drat it! Hang it ! 'od rabbit it ! " and " Rat it ! " § 108. Smooth Force is used when there is merely what might be termed a,n expansion of energy. If this is accom- panied by a great degree of excitation or enthusiasm, as in referring to what is sublime, grand, powerful, etc., we have a. Loud Smooth Force. (See, also, §§ 111, 215, 218.) If there were no religion; if that vast sphere out of which grow all the supereminent truths of the Bible, was a mere emptiness and void ; yet, methinks, the very idea of Fatherland, the exceeding preciousuess of the laws and liberties of a great people, would enkindle such a high and noble enthusiasm, that all baser feelings would be con- sumed ! If there is only a slight degree of excitation and exhilaration, as in referring to what is beautiful, lovely, tender, etc. {see, also, §§ 109, 112, 116, 119), we have b. Soft Smooth Force. If I were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy ; for I fear My soul hath her content so absolute. That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate. For Sustained, Suppressed, Explosive, Expulsive, and Effusive Force, see Orator's Manual, §§ 109-120. 62 THE SPEAKER. EXEECISES IN VOCAL CULTURE. FoECE (Stress). Force. (§§ 99-115.) Practise explosively, expulsively and effusively, — i.e. with differ- ent degrees of abruptness and smoothness, both loud and soft — the exercises in §§ 3, 7. a. Also, with different degrees of loudness, then with abrupt ex- plosive and expulsive force, at medium or low pitch — FORWARD, FORWARD, FORWARD, etc. Bead extracts in §§ 107, 110, 111, 114, 118, 149: b, d, and §§ 211, 213. b. For smooth, force, make at medium pitch, long, swelling sounds of 00 (§ 97: e), beginning and ending soft, with the middle loud. Read passages in §§ 112, 119, 120, and those marked for effusive utterance in §§ 221-225. Stress. (§§ 99-105.) Lift the arms at full length above the head, and strike forward and down. When the hands reach the hip-level, stop them suddenly and utter ah. This, which need not be continued after one can give the proper sound, will cause Initial Stress > , with the beginning of tone louder (not neces- sarily very lond) than its continuation or end ; made with explosive or expulsive utterance (§§ 3, 7). With the same movement begin a soft sound as the hands begin to descend, and end with an explosion as they stop. This will give Terminal Stress <, witli tlie end of the sound loudest; made with expulsive or explosive utterance (§§ 3, 7). Median Stress <> , with the middle of the sound loudest; made with effusive or expulsive utterance (§§ 3, 7). Compound Stress -><. This begins and ends loud; a combina- tion of Initial and Terminal Stress. Thorough Stress XX, loud throughout; a combination of Com- pound and Median Stress. Tremulous Stress, — a trembling tone. QUALITY. 63 a. Practise each kind of stress with ah, a-w, oh : also With vehemence, > Understand distinctly, you all are fools. determination, < I am determined to abide and remain. enthusiasm, O Let all the grandeur of the law be recalled. amazement, X Is it all gone, — all he had ? Yes, all. defiance, XX Let all the lawyers and the law work on. grief, — Ah, is such the law, — the nation's law ? b. Practise the different examples in §§ 99-105. c. Practise the Foundation exercise with the various kinds of stress (except the last two). LESSON VIII. Quality (Volume). § 122. By this is meant the kind of voice or tone that one uses ; and this, as has been said, depends on the elements that enter into it and constitute its volume (§ 121). The following qualities need to be understood: the Aspirate, Gut- tural and Pectoral, which, as they are used mainly to modify and supplement other tones, it is convenient to consider first; the Pure and Orotund, which are the most ordinary and important qualities; and tlie Nasal and Oral, which need to be mentioned mainly that they may be avoided. Recalling (§ 32) that the different qualities of voice represent different kinds of emotions, we turn first to the § 123. Aspirate. This is the thinnest quality, — a tone almost flooded with breath. Whenever heard, it suggests that behind the tone there is an excess of motion, or emotion, that is constantly straining through and preventing com- plete vocalization.. In other words, it indicates intensity of feeling. Besides this, in the degree in which its quality approaches that of the ordinary whisper, it suggests sur- prise, caution, apprehension or alarm, in view of external circumstances. § 124. The Aspirate mat/ be used with any tone or quality of the voice, and, when thus used, intensifies the feeling that 64 THE SPEAKER. the tone expresses. In the degree in which the aspiration is decided and forcible, it conveys the impression of appre- hension or alarm. a. When used habitually, however, it is a fault, and needs to be corrected by learning how to draw and bold more air in the lungs, and to use economy in vocalizing it. (See §§ 3, 7). b. Practising the whisper (§ 3) tends to develop the capacity and strengtli of the respiratory and articulating organs. ^^ In practising the whisper, do not allow yourself to feel that there is contraction in the throat. Keep the throat open ; make the waist muscles do the work. Never practise after feeling giddy. § 125. Guttural. This is a real voice, so modified by the drawing back of the tongue, and the contraction of the throat above the larynx, as to have an impure, harsh effect. It is acquired by practising the consonants g, j, k, r, t, and di and, in any given passage, is produced largely by articu- lating these consonants with great distinctness. It is the natural expression for hostility; hence for malice, hatred, revenge, etc. 1. I would that now I could forget the monk who stands before me ; For he is like the accursed and crafty snake ! Hence ! from my sight ! — Thou Satan, get behind me ! G6 from my sight ! — I hkte and despise thee ! 2. A murderer, and a villain : A slave, that is not twentieth pkrt the tythe Of your precedent 16rd : — -a vice of kings : A cutpurse of the empire and the rule ; That from a shelf the precious diadem st6le, And put it in his pocket ! § 127. The Guttural, like the aspirate, may accompany other qualities (though seldom the pure), and when thus used, intensifies the hostility that they express, § 137. When used habitually, the exercises (§§ 3-7) will enable one to overcome the habit. QUALITY. 65 § 128. Pectoral. This is a hollow murmur from the chest, in which the lower part of the throat seems expanded. It furnishes the natural expression for sensations of awe and horror. 1. Avkunt ! and quit my sight ! Let the earth hide thee ! Thy b6nes are marrowless, thy bl6od is cold : Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou dost glare with ! § 131. Pure. This quality results when the breathing, sounding and articulating organs are used with a gentle or moderate degree of force in the way indicated in §§ 3-7. a. The singing of the scale (§ 97, e), ascending and descending slowly with a median stress (§ 102) on each note, will help especially to cultivate this quality. When all the vowels come to have a quality similar to that of oo, as ordinarily given with soft force, they will be pure. § 132. Pure tone is the natural expression for gently agi- tated moods, whether light and gay, as in raillery, banter, admiration, exultation, or serious and grave, as in suppli- cation and contrition, or in the presence of sorrow, sickness, death, or of anything to gently subdue or suppress the feel- ings. (See §§108: b; §§ 112, 116, 120: 3, 4.) Very high, varied melody. 1. Lion. You, ladies, you whose gentle hearts do fear The smallest monstrous mOuse that creeps on floor. May now, perchance, both quake and tremble here. When lion rough in wildest rage doth r5ar. Then kn6w, that I, one Snug the joiner, am No li6n fell, nor else no lion's dam ; For if I should as lion come in strife Into this place, 'twere pity of my life. 66 THE SPEAKER. Idem, high. 2. Alas ! now, pray you, Work not so hkrd : I would the lightning had . Burned tip those logs, that you are enjoined to pile ! Pray, set it down and r^st you : when this biirns, 'Twill w^ep for having wearied you. My father Is hard at stMy, — pray now, r^st yourself: He's safe for these three hours. § 134. Orotund. This quality, though it may be given with almost every variety of force and pitch, is better adapted than the pure tone for the louder degrees of force, especially when these are produced upon a low key. It is a pure tone to which is imparted unusual body, force and resonance, which cause a difference in the volume of the tone. a. This difference is produced because in it, as contrasted with the position of the organs in simple pure tones, the abdomen is more tense, the larynx (Adam's apple in throat) lower down, the back of the tongue flatter, the soft palate higher, all the vocal passages wider, and the breath seems to be directed toward the roof of the mouth instead of straight to the lips ; in short, the organs of speech are in about the position of wailing. To acquire it, practise exercises §§ 3-7, with the organs arranged as in wailing, especially on a low key; also 6, d, g and j on a low key. b. When all the vowels come to have a quality similar to that of long as ordinarily given with loud force, they will have the orotund quality. c. On account of the richness of its full tones, suggesting often a slight degree of hoarseness, the orotund is the last and most artistic result of vocal culture, and is almost always acquired rather than natural. § 135. The Orotund is the natural expression for deeply agitated moods, whether pleasurable or otherwise ; i.e. of delight, admiration, reverence, adoration, boldness, determina- tion, etc., in view of the majesty or sublimity of truth, good- ness, honor, etc. (See Explosive and Expulsive Force, §§ 108, 110, 111, all contain- ing examples of the Orotund; also the O with all kinds of Stress, §§ 100-105; and of Sentimeni, §§ 210-225.) QUALITY. 67 Very high. 1. Liberty ! Freedom ! Tyranny is dekd ! — Edn hSnce ! proclaim, cry it about the streets ! High. 2- Ye guards of liberty, I'm with you once again ! I call to you With all my voice ! — I hold my hslnds to you To show they still are free ! Medium pitch. 3. Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand ■we here idle ? What is it that gentlemen wish ? What would they hkve ? — Is life so d6ar, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chdins and slavery ? For- bid it, Almighty God ! I know not what course ethers may take ; but as for me, give me liberty or give me dekth ! Low. 4. Pronounce, then, my lords, the sentence which the law directs, and I will be prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its exectition. I hope to be able, with a pure heart and a perfect composure, to appear before a higher tribunal — a tribunal where a judge of infinite g6odness, as well as of jtistice, will preside, and where, my lords, mkny, mkny of the judgments of this world will be reversed. § 136. The Aspirate, used with the Orotund, intensifies the feel- ing in the above sentiments, causing them to express rapture, enthu- siasm, vehemence, indignation, rage, and, with an excess of the aspirate, terror. § 137. The Guttural, used with the Orotund, adds hostility to the sentiments in § 135, causing them to express detestation, defiance, vengeance. § 138. The Nasal Quality results when the nasal passages remain closed while one is speaking. Used in connection with any of the other qualities of the voice, it adds to what they otherwise express, a sneer of contempt or derision. When this tone is habitual, to overcome it one should practise exercises §§ 3-7. 68 THE SPEAKER. § 139. The Oral Quality is the high, feeble, indifferent sound, that suggests that there is no longer any connection between the limgs and the mouth. Whoever has it needs to connect the two by learning to breathe, sound and articulate, as indicated, §§ 3-7; and also to use the lower notes of the voice. These alone can give strength, resonance and dignity to his utterances. Example Containing Different Kinds of Quality. The fiery eloquence of tlie field and. the forum springs upon the vulgar idiom as a soldier leaps upon his horse. " Trust in the Lord and keep your powder dry," said Crom- well to his soldiers, on the eve of a battle.. " Silence ! you thirty voices ! " roars Mirabeau to a knot of opposers around the tribune. " I'd sell the shirt off my back to support the war ! " cries Lord Chatham ; and again : " Con- quer the Americans ! I might as well think of driving them before me with this crutch ! " "I know," says Kos- suth, speaking of the march of intelligence, " that the light has spread, and that even the bayonets think." " You may shake me if you please," said a little Yankee constable to a stout, burly culprit whom he had come to arrest and who threatened violence, " but recollect, if you do it, you don't shake a chap of five-feet-six ; you've got to shake the whole State of Massachusetts ! " When a Hoosier was asked by a Yankee how much he weighed, — " Well," said he, " com- monly I weigh about one hundred and eighty ; but when I'm mad I weigh a ton ! " " Were I to die at this moment," wrote Nelson, after the battle of the Nile, "more frigates would be found written on my heart." The " Don't give up the ship ! " of our memorable sea-captain stirs the heart like the sound of a trumpet. Had he exhorted the men to fight to the last gasp in defence of their imperilled liberties, their altars, and the glory of America, the words might have been historic, but they never would have been quoted vernacularly. — Mathews, " Words : their Use and Abuse." Practise also the foundation exercise in declamation. For Combination, Transition, Modulation, Massing, etc., see Orator's Manual, §§ HO-154. GESTURE. 69 LESSON IX. GESTURE. § 155. By this is meant the art of representing thought through the movements of tlie body. There is a negative and a positive side to the subject. The first has to do with the different members of the body when one is not gesturing; the second, when one is ges- turing. Positions and Movements op the Body when not Gbstubing. § 156. a. The Head and Trimk. Face what is before you, and yet hold the chin down ; — down, i.e. in distinction from up or out, as if the chin were pointing forward. This is a simple rule which, if observed in standing or walking, usually causes an erect position and graceful bearing. If carried out, it will throw the shoulders and back into an erect position, with the least possible danger of causing it to seem to be a stiff one. b. Avoid holding the head, trunk or shoulders too much I. Thrown back or up. People do not like to have one seem to look above them. It suggests self-conceit or arrogance, § 200. II. Hung down. For an opposite reason, this suggests humility, bashfulness, shame. III. Inclined to one side. This suggests languor. IV. Too stiffly in any position. This suggests an unyielding tem- perament or an uncultivated bearing. §157. a. The Hands and Arms may hang ai the sides, with palms toward the body and fingers bent; or b. They may both be placed low down in front with the elbows slightly bent, and the fingers together, clasped or unclasped; or c. One hand may hang at the side, and the other be held on the waist, as if preparing to gesture. In this hand the thumb may rest in the watch chain, or the finger be pointing down, or all fingers be folded together. 70 THE SPEAKER. d. Avoid having one or both liands I. Out of sight behind the back, suggesting backwardness, awkwardness. II. Playing with each other, with the clothing or the watch chain, suggesting nervousness or embarrassment. § 158. lu Reading, hold the book in the left hand, slightly to one side, so as not to hide the face; and gesture with the right hand. § 159. The Feet and Lower Limbs. Arrange the feet, in standing, about four inches apart, and so that a straight line "drawn through one foot from toe to heel will pass through the heel of the other. (See §§ 161, 162.) a. This is the position assumed naturally by all strong men who are also graceful. In taking this position, avoid placing the feet I. Too far apart, as if bracing one's self against opposition. II. Too near together, as if unprepared to meet opposition. The position should not suggest opposition in any form. § 160- Stand firmly, with both knees unbent ; but resting the body I. On one foot — not on both of them; II. On the ball and heel of the foot — not on either exclusively. a. This position will throw the body sliglitly forward of the feet, as if about to step toward the audience, and will throw the hips a little to one side, into such a position that a line drawn perpendicu- larly through the centre of the head and trunk above will pass through the heel of the foot on which the body rests. b. The body may lean on the front foot, and incline slightly for- ward in earnest appeal. In dispassionate address it usually rests on the foot behind. Avoid I. Moving up and down on the toes, and appearing unsteady. II. Changing often the position of the feet, and appearing unsettled. III. Bending often, or holding, in a visibly bent position, one or both of the knees. Always stand or walk with the knee on which the body rests made as straight as possible. Few who appear to be weak-kneed themselves can awaken the confidence of others. IV. Besting equally upon both feet. Tliis is ungraceful, suggest- ing a lack of repose — that a man apprehends disturbance — is anxious to walk away. V. Leaning too far to one side. Above the hips, the trunk and head should be erect. One should not appear to need support. A man of firm understanding should stand firmly. GESTURE. 71 § 161. In shifting the position (not walkjng) in order to throw the weight of the body on the foot that has been resting, either take one step forward or backward, or lift the heels slightly and turn on the balls of the feet. ^1 {^ a. Shift the position while speaking, and just before or after a transition, and time the steps to the accent or emphasis on important syllables. § 162. In ■walking across the stage, the orator, as distin- guished from the actor, usually needs to face, in order to keep control of, his audience. If he gives them the side view that is afforded when they see his legs and feet cross each other, he runs a risk of los- ing his control. Some years ago the author made the following chart from the positions taken by the feet of Edward Everett during one of his orations. They seemed to be studied. 1 [AUDIKNCK.J If ^c ^-■2--' Beginning at A, he kept gradually drawing one foot behind the other till, in the course of five or ten minutes, he had reached B. From B, during an animated passage, he walked rapidly across the stage to C, but moved forward diagonally, with the right foot fore- most, so none saw his feet cross. Then he retired gradually to D, and from here walked across to A again, with the left foot foremost; and so on throughout the evening. This chart will also serve to show how the position mentioned in § 159 can always be maintained. Positions and Movements of the Body when Gestueing. § 163. Of these, there are two kinds, usually more or less combined, yet which, for the sake of explanation, may be separated. They are the objective gestures, used mainly 72 THE SPKAKER. in Oratory ; and the subjective ones, used mainly in dra- matic reading or acting. Both represent and enforce what a man thinks with reference to a subject. But the former do this in order to show the relation of the subject to the audience ; the latter, to show the relation of the subject to the speaker. In the former, the general direction of all the movements is from the speaker (his head, heart, and body generally) toward the audience ; in the latter, the direction of all movements is from the audience toward the speaker. We will consider, lirst, the OBJECTIVE GESTURES. The Head and Trunk. § 164. The movements of the head in ordinary Oratory should be few, and, except in the case of the bow, usually accompanied by gestures of the hands. If these, the most instinctive vehicles of ex- pression, are held still, while the head moves, there is an appearance of restraint, and the effect is stiff and ungraceful. For a similar reason, a slight how often comes just before an emphatic hand-gesture. For gestures with the head alone, eyes, nose, mouth, and countenance generally, see §§ 195-198. Here we will consider only the bow. § 165. Bow slowly ; start the movement in the middle of the spine ; carry the shoulders slightly forward, slightly crushing in the chest, and incline the head from the neck ; but keep the eyes on the audience, and the hands motion- less, except so far as they fall forward naturally with the shoulders. a. Avoid, therefore, making the bow I. Too rapidly. The bow represents thought just starting or just ending; in neither case, therefore, under sufBcient headway to justify excitement. II. From the neck alone. It then appears presumptuous — too flippant and familiar. III. From the waist mainly. It then appears repelling — too stiff and dignified. GESTURE. 73 IV. With the eyes on the floor, as if one had no oversight nor con- trol of his audience. V. With hands swinging too loosely, as if one had no control of himself. The Hands and Arms. § 166. The first principle with regard to these is not to exaggerate their importance. No one can be an orator who cannot attract and Interest an audience by merely the modulations of his voice. It is good practice sometimes to refrain from gestures, and to try to produce expression and effects without them. § 167. A second principle is, never to gesticulate except to emphasize ideas. This principle leads one to a. Avoid making gestures at or near the beginning of a speech ; Except, of course, when there is some exciting cause or reason for it, as at the opening of a prayer or benediction. Usually, it is only after thought is under headway that it appears natural to represent it as having sufficient momentum to move the body as well as the mind. This same principle leads us also to b. Avoid making gestures, except so far as the meaning of them is understood. Their object is to give additional expression; emphasis and repre- sentations to ideas. They can do this, so far only as tliey are used intelligently. Before proceeding, therefore, it is necessary, first of all, that we understand the following: § 168. The Significance of the Hand and Arm Gestures may be ascertained or verified by noticing, in part, the natural movements of children and of grovtm people ; and in part, the artistic movements and attitudes employed in the best elocutionary delivery, painting, and sculpture. a. The Movements of the Arms convey the hands from one position to another, —down or up perpendicularly , round about the body horizontally ; or, a.ssometimesha.ppens,bothperpendicularly and horizontally at tlie same time. A little attention to the circumstances under which these movements take place will evince tliat they are all, to some extent, representative. A man makes them either because he is viewing or iraa.uining external objects, and describing them and 74 THE SPEAKER. his relation to them, or because he instinctively conceives of some analogy between the relation that he might sustain to such objects and the attitude which his mind actually does sustain to the subject which he wishes to emphasize. In both cases the direction taken by the arms indicates the general direction or tendency of the thouglits. In other words, § 169. The Arms move downward, upward, or round about the body, to represent, respectively, what is (really or ideally) under, above, or on a level with the actor ; i.e. the actor's sight (point of view), grasp (mental comprehensiop), or control (will-power). He uses each movement respec- tively in the degree in which he conceives of himself as the master, slave, or associate of the thing thought of. a. It is sometimes said that the doionward, upward,, and roundabout directions of the arms.emphasize, respectively, conceptions that have to do witli the -will, imagination, and intellect. But it is thought that the principle just stated is more simple, both to understand and to apply, as well as more comprehensive of all the circumstances under which it is natural to use these movements. {See § 175.) § 170. The arrangement of the Hands in the gesture is evi- dently intended to give a peculiar character to the movement up and down or about the body; i.e. to represent the character of the thoughts, the direction and tendency of which are indicated by the arms. a. When, for instance, one's sensibilities are upperinost : when he is moved to feel and touch, for the purpose of welcoming or of repelling, of fondling, or of pushing off, he uses the hand with the fingers unclasped. Therefore, b. The hand unclasped, whether used in emphasis or description, represents the sensibilities, — thought that is emotional in its char- acter, addressing itself to the emotions and sympathies of an audience. There are tvfo forms in which the unclasped hand may be used ; they are as follows : § 171. The Opening Gesture. This term is used not only on account of the pecul- iar movement of the fingers opening the palm to the audience, which invariably accompanies this gesture when it is rightly made, but GESTURE. 75 because the gesture itself signifies au open mind, repre- sents the act of receiving or giving ; receiving from the mind to convey outward, or from without to convey to the mind. It indicates, when used a. Emphatically, the opening of a channel of expression or impression ; b. Descriptively, anything conceived of as o-pen to thought or activity, therefore as unlimited, uncircumscrihed, free. c. For the application of this principle to the different forms of the opening gesture, as made downward, upward, or about the body, see § 175. § 172. The Closing Gesture. This term is used not only because the hand, when making this gesture, especially if in a' downward direction, seems about ready to drop, with fingers closed, to its normal position at the side, but because the gesture, whenever it is made, suggests the idea of closing the mind to outside influence, of pushing down or away, or of warding off, repressing; and, in the degree in which the wrist is bent up vigorously, of repel- ling any object of sight or thought from the mind's consid- eration. It indicates, when used a. Emphatically, the closing of the channel of expression or impression ; b. Descriptively, anything conceived of as closed out from or closed in ; so anything limited or circumscribed, and this, too, in the sense of being separated from something else by outlines. It is used, therefore, in describing most things that are accurately delineated. C. For the application of this principle to the different forms of the closing gesture, as made downward, upward, or about the body, see § 175. § 173. When one's intellect is uppermost, when he is analyzing, selecting, and pointing out what he sees and 76 THE SPEAKER. knows, rather than what he feels or wills, and always when he is not moved by sufficient depth of sentiment or deter- mination to be anything but playful, he uses his finger. a. The Finger gesture, therefore, represents that which is analytical in its character, addressing the intellect, and directing attention, whether by way of emphasis or descrip- tion, to individual persons, objects or arguments. b. When one's will is uppermost, when he has deter- mination and fight in him, and is addressing neither the sympathies nor the intellect but rather forcing the wills of those about him, he doubles up his fist. c. The Fist gesture, therefore, represents that which is forcible in its character, addressing itself to the will and the activities ; when used descriptively, it. represents that which can grasp, confine, or control. d. The Fist and Finger gestures are sometimes com- bined, the thumb folded upon the three clasped fingers. This represents one's determination with reference to some individual person or object. § 174. Double Gestures, made with both hands, increase the degree, not the kind, of emphasis that would be given by the same gesture if made with one hand. a. An Opening Gesture, made with one hand at one side, at the same time as a Closing Gesture at the other side, indicates that the mind conceives of a subject both in its possibilities of free expansion (tlie Opening Gesture) and of limitation (the Closing Gesture). b. When from this position the two liands are brought in front, with the fingers of tlie palm that is down (Closing) striking the palm that is up (Opening), it simply gives additional emphasis to this idea: •that the mind is conceiving of a subject as completely under its grasp (§§ 171, 172) from beginning to end, where activity begins anil where it stops. c. The two hands together, with the fingers straight and palms touching, indicate a conscious (otlierwise the hands would remain at the sides) restraining of the tendency to enforce one's own views by appealing to otliers (the Opening position), and this eitlier because the time lias not come fur enforcement, as when held below at the GESTURE. 77 beginning of a speech, or because it would be of no avail as referring to sometliing above one's control, as when held above, in supplica- tion. d. The two hands together, with the fingers straight and clasped, but the palms down (Closing position), add to the same indication a suggestion of independence. They show that the man does not care about enforcing his views ; that he will hold them irrespective of the influence of others, which influence he is willing to close out. e. The two hands with the fingers folded and clasped, palms together, indicate something rigidly (clasp) restraining the tendency to enforce one's own views when appealing (Opening position). The restraint may come from the man himself, from his own feelings (nerves), thoughts or will, as when the hands are held below ; or from something outside or above himself, as when held in front or above the head in violent supplication. J^^ The general principles determining the significance of the different kinds of objective gestures described in these pages — not to the extent that might be possible, bat sufliciently to answer all the requirements of ordinary oratory — have never been explained, as is believed, in the same way as in the present work ; but it is simply a matter of justice to state that the gesture movements treated in the sections following page 80, which, in substance, have been taught for several years by the author and also by his pupils, were at first derived (how fully the author himself cannot now determine) from a portion of the very ingenious and successful methods, which it is hoped will at some time be published, originally taught in the Univer- ' sity of Pennsylvania, by Professor S. M. Cleveland. The student should now be shown by the teacher exactly how to make each gesture, and enjoined to practise the movements for twenty minutes a day for a time. See also page 9. LESSON X. GESTURE. — Continued. One should not look at the hands, while gesturing, unless they are supposed to be pointing toward something that he is describing. 78 THE SPEAKER." 175. Chart showing the significance of the Gestures. Arm Positions. a. IiO-w Ges- ture, marked 1. , would refer to a path under one's point of view; assert a belief conceived to be un- der (or within) one's comprehension; or enforce an obliga- tion on those con- ceived to be under one's influence. to. High Ges- ture, marked h. , would refer to a mountain top above one's own position ; would be used with an exclamation of wonder in thinking of something above one's comprehension or of fear of some- thing above his con- trol. c. Wave Ges- ture, marked w., 60 called because, in preparing for it, the hand necessarily makes a wave-like, horizontal move- ment; would refer to a real object be- fore, beside or be- hind (i. e. remote from) the speaker (marked f., s. or bk.), or to an object of consideration, as a present, side or past issue. The broader the scope ot the object consid- ered, the higher and wider do the arms and the hands move. Opening Gestures. 1. O. or O. Emotional, sympathetic form; submits anything as an o/jeii question to be finally decided by others to whose sympathy or judgment one appeals. It is the 'ordinarij persuasive, argument- ative gesture; e. g. O. They should be banished; i. e. I think so; do not you — will not you — agree with me'i" h. O. Opens the mind to influences from above, or refers to any con- ceived of as grandly beneficial, liberalizing or inspiring; i. e. to sunshine, freedom or God as a father. Employed in the benediction or a prayer, it solic- its inspiring grace; expresses confidence in God and a desire to receive what he has to im- part. w. O. at breast level; l.w. O. at hip level; f. O., bk. O., s. O., ending like a simple 0. gesture. It appeals to those surrounding one, especially in questioning, inviting and wel- coming: with the hand moving forward it expresses confidence, refers to friends: moving in- ward, or held in front of breast (with knuckles out) it expresses self-devotion, surrender, mod- esty, etc. Descriptively, it refers to a smiling landscape, or anything not too accurately delineated, in connection with which there is a sense of freedom or pleasure. To shrug the shoulders and open the palms, represents that one has no accurately defined view of that to which he refers. 0. Finger. 1. O. F. or 1. r. Intellectu- al, analytical form ; appeals to others by opening up specific divi- sions or as- pects of a sub- ject; e. g. Is there one man? h. O. F. points or calls attention (sometimes with a wave movement, like beckon- ing) to speci- fic beneficial aspirations or influences from above. w. O. F. to s.j hr., etc. Waved from the side or front toward some specific person or thing, and drawn back in the act of beckoning. Sometimes used to point to one's self. A combina- tion of the side O. F. with the fist, stigmatizes that to which it points; or it may ihrealen. GESTURE. 79 0. Fist. 1.0.Ft.,0. Ft. or Ft. Wilful, or forcible, form ; ap- peals with a ivill; e. g. Were they to do it, we ought to use force with them. h. O. Ft. threatens with force greater than one's own. Mov- ing up or down, it de- scribes forc- '\h\epushing up or tear- ing down. It is often used thus. w. O. Ft. or shak- en. Shaken at some per- son or thing in the act of threaten- ing. Some- times isused descriptive- ly to repre- sent what is clasped o r held, either in enmity or friendship, in pain or in pleasure, in resolute de- termination or weakness. Closing Gestures. C. Finger. C. Fist. 1. C. or C. Emotional, sympathetic form; closes out appeal or debate with a self-assert- ive, dictative disregard of opposition. Descriptively, it represents the manner of closing or limiting; e. g. C. They should be ban- ished; i.e. I think,irrespect- ive of your opinion, that they should be pushed off, as I push my hand from me. h. C. Closes the mind to influ- ences from above, to be guarded against: or refers to any conceived of as, in themselves, overwhelming or irresistible; i. e. to storms, avalanches, fate, laws of universe, God as a force. Descriptively, it de- lineates outlines of objects above one. Used in the benediction, it imparts con- straining grace. w. C. at breast level; 1. w. C. at hip level; f. C, bk. C, etc. Ending like a simple C. gesture, it shuts off appeal, repressing or repelling those about. With the hand moving outward, it expresses oppo- sition, aversion, rejection, disdain, and refers to foes; moving inward, or held in front of breast, it wards or protects self, shows self- consideration or self-asser- tion. Descriptively, it is the most appropriate gesture by which to delineate out- lines of any kind, but refers especially to anything im- peded in itself, or appearing threatening or lowering. 1. C. F. or C. F. Intellectu- al, analytical form of the C. gesture; closes out spe- cific divisions or aspects of a subject; e. g. Just here is the limit. h. C. F. or h. F, The usual high F. ges- ture by which one points to specific ob- jects describ- ed; ov refers to influences that can con- trol or may injure one. The warning gesture. C. F. or F. at s.,on br., etc. The or- dinary finger gesture,hy us- ing which, in reference or description, a man points to surrounding objects or to himself. Held up and out in front, and shaken, play- fully warns. Pointing to the breast re- fers to obli- gation, heart, love, soul, etc. 1. C. Ft. Wilful, forcible ; peal with a loiii, and us- ually (with a wave move- ment) de- scriptive. I could tear it to tatters. h. C. Ft. refers to, or describes, something ahove, forc- ibly held; or, if an ob- stacle, torn rfojtfw, repre- sented by the down- ward move- ment of the hands. w. C. Ft. Mainly used in referring to, or de- scribing, anything forci bly held or re- moved; e.g. in telling of the reins of a supposed span of horses when describing a ride; or the rending of a curtain which one to tear. 80 THE SPEAKER. Forms op the Opening Gestubes. Preparatory movements. 176. Perpendicular, i. e. straight up and down. Starting with hand in nor- mal position when dropped at side, do loUowing things suc- cessively: Bend fingers toward palm ; turn palm toward audi- ence; bend wrist toward elbow; bend elbow toward shoulder; lift arm from shoulder and return it to where the elbow will be in position for the end of the gesture; bend elbow to bring forearm into position /or the stroke of the gesture; then bend down wrist, at same time throwing out thumb and fin- gers. In this way the backs of fingers, which in opening ges- tures give the visible blow, seem to strike from the great- est possible distance. Horizontal or Wave, i. e. a circular or straight move- ment across the body; often used for grace or variety with 1. O., h. O., front O., back O., s. O., and always with w. O. Starting with hand in nor- mal position when dropped at side, with palm toward body, bend fingers toward palm; bend elbow, bringing forearm and hand, with fingers curled, across the body ; then , if mak- ing a simple gesture, move to the position for the stroke of the gesture, first, elbow, then forearm, and last, wrist, thumb a.nA fingers; but if making a wave gesture, after bring- ing hand as high and far one side of shoulder as the stroke of gesture is to carry it the other side, first, while in front of body, throw wrist, thumb and fingers into position, then move End of Oesture. 177. To answer requirements of beauty, the elbow, wnst and fingers, at end of gesture, should togjether form a compound curve, not a simple curve nor a straight line. To answer requirements of strength., the muscles of elbow, wrist and fingers, forming this com- pound curve, should be tense, not limp, and seem to have struck a strong blow, with backs of fingers. Low Opening, 1. O. Elbow very slightly bent, about four inches to one side, and also in front of hip; wrist well down, with palm visible to audience; thumb up and out from palm, but not held stiflSy; fingers almost touching each other, the first pointing to the floor, the others very slightly curled. IiOwO. Finger, 1. 0. F. orl. F., usually 1. f. F. Finger, elbow and wrist bent as in 1. O. ; the first fin- ger pointing straight to floor, with its side to audience; the other fingers curled as much as possible, with the thumb bent in at all its joints and folded over the curled fingers. Low Q. Fist, 1. O. Ft. Elbow bent as in 1. O. ; wrist bent toward elbow, thumb and fingers clasped and knuckles up. Do not make a weak fist. High Opening, h. O. Elbow bent and wrist well down, as in 1. O. ; the first finger pointing horizontally; the backs of the others on a line level with it, striking the air below them; but the thumb held up so the palm will be visible to audience. High O. Finger, h. O. F. Elbow more bent, the forefinger pointing straight up, the others curled firmly against the palm, the knuckles to audience and the thumb out. High O. Fist, h. O. Ft. Same as h.O. F., with the first finger and thumb bent in at every joint. GESTURE. 81 82 THE SPEAKER. the hand back across the body to the side in a very/rce, gen- erous arch, on a line exactly parallel to the floor, cutting the air with the side of the first finger, which points toward the floor, and constantly chang- ing the elbow and wrist angles till the gesture ends at the side of body. In preparing for O. gestures •with both, bands, B. O. , the little flngers of the two hands frequently touch, but it is not customary to have them cross each other. Middle, m.O.,F. or Ft. Gesture at breast level. Wave, I Side, Front, Back Opening, w. O. , s. O. , f. O. , bk. O. Same as high O. , with the wrist bent down more and flrst finger pointing more directly to the floor. In bk. O. the fingers sometimes point outward, with all their fronts visible to audience. Side O. Finger, s. F. Same as s. O., with first finger pointing, its side uppermost, and thumb folded over other fingers. When forcibly made, the arm may be straight at elbow. Side O. Fist, s. O. Ft. Elbow bent, wrist, palm and knuckles up. Forms op the Closing Gestubes. Preparatory Movements. 178. Perpendicular, i. e. straight up and down. Starting with hand in nor- mal position when dropped at side, do following things suc- cessively : Turn knuckles, with fingers curled on palm, toward audience; lift straight arm toward audience till at angle of forty-five degrees from body ; then bend elbow up and wrist down, hiding palm from audi- ence, carrying forearm up high enough to begin to descend for the end of gesture; then, as it descends, throw wrist up and fingers and thumb into position for the end of gesture. Last of all, in 1. C. or s. C, straighten the arm, at the same time turning the ivrist about so that the fingers shall point away from the body ; in h. C. , throw wrist, fingers and thumb into position with a forward move- ment of the forearm, but leave the elbow still slightly bent. Horizontal or Wave, i. e. End of Gesture. 179. To be graceful, the elbow, wrist, thumb and fingers, at end of gesture, should form a compound curve, not a simple curve nor straight line. So in 1. C. and •w. C. the elbow is straightened. To seem strong, the muscles form- ing this compound curve should be tense, twt limp, and appear to have struck a vigorous blow; m 1. C. and w. C. partly with the outside edge of little finger, and partly with tips of all the fingers; in h. C. or h. F. with either the fronts or backs of the fin- gers. IiOw Closing, 1. C. or C. Arm straight, elbow unbent, wrist about eight inches to one side of the body, bent up; fingers parallel to floor and pointing outward, straight and touch- mg each other; thumb down and visi- ble to audience. Low C. Finger, 1. C. F. Usually in iiront, knuckles to audience, elbow and wrist bent, first finger pointing straight to floor, others curled in and thumb out from palm. Low C. Fist, 1. C. Ft. Same as GESTURE. 83 lOorO wave" fO ^^ ~ ■^^d Avoid straipM line ^ and simple curve 84 THE SPEAKER. a circular or straight; move- ment across the body; almost always used to some extent with 1. C, f. C, bk. C, 8. C, and cdways with w. C. Starting with the hand in normal position when dropped at side, with palm toward body and fingers curled, keeping wrist straight, bend elbow and bring hand up across the body (to opposite hip if preparing for a slight 1. C. or 1. w. C. , to opposite breast for a strong 1. C, s. C. or w. C); then bending up wrist and straightening fingers (point them parallel to iioor if at hip; parallel to vest collar if at breast, i. e. in position of C. on br.) and dropping thumb so it can be seen by audience; move the hand back across the hody (diagonally downward for a 1. C; straight, i. e. parallel to floor, for a w. C), cutting the air with the edge of the little finger, straightening the arm at elbow as soon as possi- ble ; and, last of all, with a sud- den turn of the wrist, throwing the hand into position, wiOi the fingers pointing away from body (parallel to floor in 1. C. and prone C, slightly or decidedly upward in w. 0. or s. C). In preparing for C. gestures with both hands, B. C, whether at the waist or breast, the two hands frequently cross each other. 1. C, with fingers and thumb all folded in as much as possible. High Closing, h. C. Elbow for- ward from body, on a level with shoulder, though to one side of it, and bent; wrist forward from elbow, and, as seen by audience, just above it; full hand to audience, with fingers pointing straight up and thumb out to one side of palm. High C. ringer, h. C. F. or h. F. Same as h. C, with all fingers but the first pressed firmly against palm. High C. Fist, h. C. Ft. Same as h. C. , with fingers and thumb all folded in as much as possible. IVEiddle, m. C. Gesture at breast level. Wave Closing, w. C. Including breast C. , front C, side C, m. C, bk. C. Breast Closing, br. C. Elbow bent, forearm parallel to floor; thumb pointing away from elbow and visi- ble to audience: fingers straight, to- gether and parallel to vest collar, and edge of little finger to audience. Front, f . C. I'he same, with elbow slightly bent, and palm and all fingers and thumb visible to audience. Side, s. C. Similar, but with arm straight and only side of first finger and thumb visible to audience, palm outward. Breast, br.C. F. Sameasbr.C, with all fingers but first folded on palm. Middle, m. or s. C. F. Same as br. C. F. , with wrist unbent and F. pointing outward. Wave, w. C. Ft. Sameasw. C, with fingers and thumb all folded together. ' The student who will learn to apply the above directions will be able to make, in the best way, all the gestures that he will be apt to need in ordinary Oratory. ' Besides this, as soon as he has mas- tered the system he will find that it admits of almost any amount of variety, — in fact, that all gestures, even the most dramatic, are merely modifications of these, made more angular or circular (§§ 184, 186) to suit the sentiment. GESTURE. 85 n 86 THE SPEAKER. § 180. Preparation for the Gesture. It is often more important to move the arms rightly when preparing for a gesture, and i7i passing from one gesture, to another, than to have the arm and hand in a right position when the gesture closes. §181. Reasons. In gestures referring to surrounding objects or describing them, there is more meaning in the preparatory move- ments than in the close. Hence the necessity of having these move- ments slow, in order tliat their significance may be clearly perceived. a. The eyes of the audience often dwell longer on the movements of preparation than on the close. Hence the necessity, especially in cases where, as instanced under the last head, these movements must be slow, of having the arms move freely through wide and large arches. Otherwise there will be little gracefulness in their appearance. b. The after-effects of a gesture are x>owerfnl in the degree in which the end of the stroke is given with rapidity and front a dis- tance. The first of these effects cannot be produced excfept by way of contrast with previous sloio movements, nor the second except at the end of movements made through long arches. Hence both of these conditions, previously mentioned, are demanded by the require- ments of strength. § 182. Significant, graceful and strong effects in the move- ments preparatory for gestures result in the degree in vehich these are made slowly and describe long arches. In preparing for a gesture, therefore, one should begin some seconds before the time for the stroke, fit the movement of the arm to the phrase that follows, and not exhaust this movement before reaching the word at which the gesture closes. Even in a merely emphatic gesture in wliich there is no attempt at description, and no matter hoio rapidly the words may be flowing, one should raise his arm slowly, as if taking aim like a skilful boxer, and thus give the stroke when the time comes in sucli a way as to make it effective. A gesture given in this manner is more apt than any other to have ■meaning and grace, and, above all, to convey that impression of self- control which is so important in the manner of an orator. A man may appear, and if eloquent will appear, to be full of emotion ; but this will not influence others much unless it appears to be a rational regulated emotion, held well in hand and directed wisely. As a rule, no man can control an audience who does not show that he can con- trol himself. GESTURE. 87 § 183. Size of Gesture Movements. These should differ according to the different degrees and kinds of emphasis that they are intended to represent. a. It is necessary to notice only two general tendencies of thought to which this principle is applicable. §184. Because in the degree in which thought is conceived of as about or above one, the hands move about or above the body. a. The grander and loftier, the more comprehensive and elevating, the nature of the thought to be emphasized, the wider and higher will be the sweep of the ar-ms in preparing for a gesture, and this fact vpill also determine their ^o«- tion at its close ; e.g. In the degree in which an orator becomes interested in a subject or audience, considering it or them as of greater scope or size, impor- tance or dignity, the Opening Gesture, which at iirst is made only with a straight upward and downward movement of preparation, and ends low down at the side, is made witli a circular movement of prep- aration across the waist, and ends higher up and farther out from the body. § 185. Wemustbe careful not to emphasize smaiUdeas with grand gestures. If we do, the appearance of incongruity between the thing and the thing signified may produce laughter ; or, to state the prin- ciple differently, a. Exaggerated Preparatory Movements are used to give a ludicrous or sarcastic effect to the emphasis of a gesture. (See § 209 : 4.) § 186. Because, in the degree in which an interest in outward ob- jects, such as causes one to dwell upon them descriptively, is slight, the roundabout movements, or the wave in connection with the up- ward and downward movements, is slight. a. The sharper, the more passionate, the nature of the thought to be emphasized, the more straight and angular vpill be the movement of the arms in preparing for a gesture, and their position at its close ; e.g. The closing gesture made with a circular movement, and ending with the wrist only slightly bent upward, represses ; e.g. No, no, darling; don't do that. ■88 THE SPEAKER. But pushed straight, with the wrist bent sharply upward, as is necessary in order to complete the idea of pushing, it repels ; e.g. Away, base fiend! § 187. The Eeturn of the Gesture. The hand should be kept in position a moment after the stroke of the gesture, then ordinarily allowed to fall easily and naturally to the side ; but the stronger, the more sustained and persistent, the nature of the thought to be emphasized, the more ten- dency there will be to make a combination or series of gestures. a. Single gestures can represent emotion that is spasmodic only. It is by repeated and accumulated emphasis that the most powerful effects are produced, both in elocution and gesticulation. §188. Tlie following combined gestures need to be mentioned: a. The Opening Shake Gesture. In this, after the stroke, the elbow is moved rapidly backward and forward, and the wrist, at the same time, is bent and unbent, describing with the hand an arc smaller and smaller, till the shake closes with the arm and hand in the same position as that in which it began. It is used where it seems necessary to emphasize vigorously a whole phrase, rather than a single word; e.g. Who distinctly and audaciously tells the Irish people that they are not entitled to the same privileges as Englishmen ? Avoid the faults of moving the elbow and not the wrist, and mov- ing the wrist and not the elbow. § 189. After the stroke of the opening gesture, the hand, instead of remaining in position, sometimes has a tendency to rebound. When the emphasis is strong, it is well to indulge this tendency, and give form to it in the Opening Snatch Gesture. In this the hand, immediately after the stroke, is snatched away, and across the body, to form a fist rest- ing on the opposite waist or chest; or else, if a gesture of inspiration, snatched straight up, to forjn an opening high finger gesture. Avoid the fault of not making an unmistakable opening gesture before snatching up the hand. §190. Closing Shake Gesture. In this the hand, after the stroke, continues to move up and down from the wrist, either with GESTURE. 89 increasing or lessening rapidity. Like the Opening Shake, it is used where it seems necessary to emphasize vigorously a whole phrase, rather than a single word. § 191. Closing Shuffle Gesture, in which the hand, after the stroke, continues to move from side to side at the wrist. It has a meaning similar to that of the Shake Gesture ; but, because it is much more distinctly visible to an audience, it is much more fre- quently used. § 202. Meaning of the letters indicating Gestures, which are al- ways marked on a line above the words on which they are used. For the movement preceding gesture: For the stroke of the gesture : *vr wave, parallel to floor. * O opening. tr from the side across {trans.) C closing. body. C prone, when fingers form a br movement to the breast. straight line with arm. s " side. F finger. f " front. Ft fist. bk " back. B both hands. h high above head. R right hand. m middle, i. e. at L left hand. level of breast. Wliere neither R nor L is used 1 u low, below waist. gesture with either hand. For snatch, shuffle, shake, see §§ 188-191. Unless otherwise marked, toaves are on a level with the breast, and all other gestures are low. I. FOUNDATION EXERCISE IN DECLAMATION. GESTURE. I RO 1 RO 1. The war | must go dn. We must fight it | through. bkR c And, if the war | must go 6n, | why put off Idnger ) m RO 1 the declaration | of independence ? That measure | will R O snatch to C Ft on op. waist 1 1 R O 1 s R O Strengthen us : it will give us chdracter || abrdad. If we *For the manner o^ forming these gestures, see pp. 136-140; for their m.eati^ ing, p. 134. 90 THE SPEAKER. w to 1 s L C fail, I it can be no worse \ for us. But we shall riot fail. 1 L O 1 s L The cause | will raise up | drmies; the cause | will create | o 1 K9 ndvies. The people, \ the pSople, \ if we are true to them, | E C F up.on br wmKCtosfEC hEC will carry us, \ and will carry themselves, \ gloriously! push E C f and down thrdugh \ this strtiggle. Sir, | the declaration | will inspire | the people | with increased || cdurage. Instead of a long I w tr to R C F on br pointing up and bloody \ war \ for restoration \ of privileges, | for re- front 1 E O w to 1 E O ^ dress \ of grievances, | for chartered | immunities, \ held | h EO Tinder a British \ king, || set before them | the glorious\ h EOF turn to h EC and push ohjeci 1 of entire \ independence, \ and it will breathe into them to t and lower E C afiew I the breath | of life. slowly lift EC to shoulder level EC to Through the thick \ gloom | of the present || I see the h KC to hEOF EOF drop brightness | of the filture, \ as the sUn | in heaven. We m BO w 1 tr B C shall make this a gldrious, \ an immdrtal \ day. When wd\ to 1 s B C turn to 1 B O wide m B O 1 are in our graves | our children \ will hdnor it. They will ^ B o » celebrate it | with thanksgiving, \ with festivity, \ with Vdn- fires I and illuminations. On its annual | retfirn | they will w to 1 bk B c shed I tectrs — | cdpious, \ gushing tears, — not of subjection | • shuffle B C shuffle B C shuffle B C high and slavery, — | not of agony \ and distress, — | but of B O mid BO low BO exultdtion, \ of gr&titude | and of joy. II. OTHER EXERCISES IN GESTURE. w 1 tr EO to RO hold 2. Tell me, | man of military | science, \ in how many turn and w to 1 bk E C m6nths | were the Pilgrims | all | swept djf\hj the thirty | GESTURE. 91 savage | tribes | enumerated | within the early | limits | wItrLOtoLO 1 LO of New England? Tell me, | politician, \ how Idtig \ did this I shadow | of a c61ony, | on which your conventions ] w to 1 bk LC and treaties | had not smiled, | Idnguish \ on the distant ] w 1 tr B O to BO 1 BO w 1 tr B C to 1 B C c6ast? Student | of Mstorij ,\compdre for me | the baffled | shuffle bk B C shuffle bk B C projects, I the abandoned | adventures | of other times, | turn to 1 B O and find a parallel \ of this. 3. Now, sir, I what was the c6nduct | of your 6wn | E C F at side pointing 1 front R C F pointing down allies I to Poland? | Is there a single \ atrocity \ of the repeat F down repeat F repeat F repeat F w to French \ in Italy, | in Switzerland, — | in Egypt, \ if you lEO lEO lEO snatch to fist on op waist please, — | more | unprincipled \ and inhuman | than that of front EOF down repeat F repeat F w to E O Eilssia, I Austria | and Prflssia | in Poland? 1 E O exaggerated s E O f R O turn 4. Yes; th§y will give enlightened freedom to our minds, to E C F up on br w m E C to f 6 m E C prone stroke stroke who are themselves the sldres of pission, dvarice and pride! wRCtrtobrEC wmEC to s^ They offer us their protection: yes, such protection as vAl- t EC h EC shuffle 1 EC tures give to lambs, — covering and devouring theml w to 1 bk B c Tell your inv&ders | we seek | no | change, — | and | 1 B O wide 1 B O least of all, | s&ch \ change | as tMy | would bring us. The following chart will indicate sufficiently for the purpose of this book the different attitudes and movements appropriate for the ideas that one is most frequently called upon to represent through the use of these gestures. The principles underlying the chart, aside from those already explained, are that the head represents mental; the breast, moral or emotional ; the lotver trunk, physical ; and the legs, like the arms (§§ 183, 186), determinative or volitive conceptions. 92 THE SPEAKER. §13 6 E u S H |g g.S f= - c: ^ ED ^_J e: is. :SS 3 i>" -I bo ss S|5 cog +j m ia P e " E ■3 .9 ,S a 5 '^ o OS £• " 0) C D. 1.2 o5 g g C CO C •g.gxij:Wj3 aj a> og og gM bO &i_'«'«'^."«'e ti-fs P ■ a) ggg ^ tu ^ .C (fi 3 H fe " O^ B ■B-a 3 t i-o .SS'O &g-s •S Bo o^ o g"|§ ssgg C d si SSS' .s-^a 11 aj CO bDO) > tDXl .« O <) no 0)41 GESTUKE. 93 Hi'H 9 rt o n 2 ^ " o p ft o Pija o fl !"S£S pq g < s a =! « =s a sss c3 (- ;5S^MM^fiQ +j'qj o cu t< t>^,£ tz S -"SgSSSgaa i_ og o 3 g CO I- :&! S-3 HS £ S. I Q 00 2 aaSai§§§ > «^5:d§»5 l-'S O . < "Wll-"^ s 1^ o mint o • N um a M /ft — oii « /ft 3 /ft mS '^i-'33 Q 5 S: 2 5-s . z g ..-s . a u 2 3 =^ 05 sillS's ^ A. k > S| £..2 1 tpqoPQPP;^ i=|iss s « ^i a ill ^- < ^ Z §|lg|i F Z ^ L ° ^- • P2i| ° i <° ^S;-^ g|. S ^ Hill 13 to §• Z L S »£• .S3 «^ -s o ? ^as I mi _:5§ I- «; -assg. H, 5 « oW a J If to ii '; LJ WW ™ Ul 5 . Q: z =i oc g»i a- -a ; a t^i: Q) 0) Sf *^ rf > Q, a^ a a a C a «t3 g W^i^; oocq Who'll prove it, | at his peril, | on my headi" w 1 R O w 1 s E C (f A 0) Banished! 1 thank you for't. It breaks my ch^in! (p) I held some slack allegiance till this hour; IRO^ lEO wfmRC (/) But now I my sword's | my own. Smile dn, my lords! w tr R C to br C P br C P (ff) I scorn to count what ffeelings, withered | hopes, br C F br C F [A (?) strong I provocations, | bitter, [ b&ming | wrdngs, brCF (p A) I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, w br C to m f 3 EC (/) To leave you in your lazy | dignities. wmRCtr tomfC wmRCtr iff A (?) But here I stand and sc6fFyou! here, 1 fling to m f R C and drop Hatred and full defiance in your f See ! w 1 BO {p sl AO) Your consul's | merciful — for this | aU | thanks: 1 B Ft 1 BO (/) He dares not | touch | a hair | of Cfitiline! 1 f BO wide BO (AG) "Traitor!" I gd; but II 1 1| return. This || trial? 1 BO (ff) Here I dev6te your sfenate! I've had wrongs brECF (G) 142 THE SPEAKER. 1 E O 1 R O Ft 1 E O Ft Or make the infant's | sinews | strong | as stfeel. 1 E O down (/) This day's | the birth of sdrrow! This hour's work 1 BO 8 E C F {A) Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hfearths, my lords ! s E c F (ff A 0) For there, henceforth,, shall sit, | for household gods, | change to sECh BCh sCh Shapes | hot from T3.rtarus! — all sh&mes | and crimes! 8 C h w tr to R C Ft on waist and 1 E O Wan Trfeachery, 1 with his thirsty | dagger | drfiwn; | 1 E O change to 1 f E C pr Suspicion, | poisoning his brdther's cup; | slowly lift B C Naked Rebellion, | with the torch and axe, | h B C f Making his wild | sport | of your blazing | thrdnes; h B C f drop to m B C pr Till Anarchy | comes down on you | like night, | h B C f drop to 1 B C And massacre || seals | Rome's || eternal II grSve! 35. REPLY TO ME. COERY. — Henry Grattmi. (Page 209, Orator's Manual.) 36, OUR RELATIONS TO ENGLAND, KH. —Edward Everett. (Page 211, Orator's Manual.) 3T. EOLLA'S ADDRESS TO THE PERUVIANS.— ij. B. Sheridan. My brave associates, — partners of my toil, my feelings, and my fame! — can RSUa's words add vigor to the virbuous energies which 1 sRO IfRO W8EC inspire your hearts? No! You have judged, as I have, the foid- w 8 EC ness of the crafty pl^a by which these bold invaders would delilde you. ySur generous spirit has compared, as mine has, the mdtives 1 8 L Olf L OlsLO which in a war like this, can animate their minds and 6urs. They, m 8 LO 1 LOFt wlLOto by a strange frenzy driven, fight for p6wer, for pltinder, and extended side 1 ROlsEO 1 EO rule: we, for our country, our Altars, and our hfimes. They follow w msLC msLC an adventurer whom they f6ar, and obey a power which they h&te: 1 R O ' hRO we serve a monarch whom we 16ve — a God whom we ad6re. When- MARKED SELECTIONS FOR DECLAMATION. 143 w s L C to waist w 8 L C tr L e'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their pr6gress! Whene'er C to br LCwtomsC they pause in amity, affliction mourns their friendship. They boast f . B O wide BO w B C they come but to imprSve our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us to B B C exaggerated m B €) from the yoke of ferror! TSs; they will give enlightened freedom to mBO IBC brEC our minds, who are themselves the slS-ves of passion, avarice, and F wRCto mCpr lift to h C pride! They offer us their protection : yes, such protection as vultures h E C shake h R C 1 EC give to l^mbs — covering and devotiring them! They call on us w 1 B C bacl£ to barter all of good we have enhanced and proved, for the desperate 1 BO 1 BO chance of something better which they | promise. Be our plain f EO Is E O answer this: — The throne we honor is the people's | choice; the B E O s and bacli E O w laws we reverence are our brave | fWhers' Ifegacy; the faith we follow to 1 f E o s E O teaches us to live | in bonds of ch3,rity with all | mankind, and die | h E C P 1 E O with hope of bliss | beyond the grSve. Tell your invaders this; and w m BC IBC 1 tell them, too, we seek n6 chSnge, — and, least of all, such change as BO. they would bring us! 38. CffiSAE PASSING THE RUBICON.— 7. S. Knowles., (Page 213, Orator's Manual.) 214. Graphic, Delineative Style : Anecdotes and their Applications. As a rule, on objects referred to, use a downward bend or inflection (§ 50), and sometimes the circumflex (§§ 69, 70). These objects should be articulated distinctly, which will tend to make the predominating terminal stress (§ 101) short and sharp, or change it to initial stress (§ lOOj. When, again, there is muchdrift (§ 154) the terminal will become median stress (§ 102). Orotund Quality. Toward the end of each selection this orotund may be aspirated (§§ 135, 136). 39. THE LAST CHARGE OP NEY.-/. T. Beadky. The whole | continental | struggle | exhibited no sublimer | sp6c- tacle than the last | great | effort | of Nap61eon | to save | his sink- 144 THE SPEAKER. ing I Empire. Europe | had been put | upon the plains | of Waterloo | to be battled for. The greatest | military | energy | and skill | the world I possessed | had been tasked to the utmost | during the day. w Thrones | were tottering | on the ensanguined | field, | and the shad- trmf E CwEC to msBC ows I of fugitive | kings | flitted | through the smoke | of bS.ttle. h E CP h E C Bonaparte's | star | trembled | in the z5nith, | now | blazing out , in m f E C prone and down its ancient | splendor, | now | suddenly | paling | before his anxious | feye. (At length, when the Prussians appeared on the field, he resolved to stake Europe on one bold throw. He committed himself and France to Ney, and saw his empire rest on a single charge. The intense anxiety with which he watched the advance of the column, the tei-rible suspense he suffered when the smoke of battle concealed it from sight, and the utter despair of his great heart when the cur- tain lifted over a fugitive army, and the despairing shriek rang out on every side, "La garde recule, La garde recule," make us, for the moment, forget all the carnage, in sympathy with his distress.) Ney felt the pressure | of the immense | responsibility | on his brave | heart, | and resolved | not to prove unworthy | of the great | brECF to msEC trust I committed to his cfire. Nothing | could be more | impds- ing I than the movement | of the grand | column | to the assMt. turn body to the right back BO 1 f B O That guard | had never | yet | recoiled | before a human f6e; and turn, to the left m f B C slowly drop the allied | forces | beheld | with a,we | its firm 1 and terrible | ad- BC vance | to the final | ch3.rge. For a moment | the batteries | stopped | playing, and the firing c5asedaJong the British lines, | as | without the beating | of a drum, | ,, ,, ,,. , ,, w msLC tomf LC or the blast | of a bugle, | they moved | in dead | silence | over the plam. The next | moment ! the artillery j. opened, | and the i.ji/.ii Hill , , fLC prone slowly head | of the gallant | column | seemed to sink | down; yet they drop L C lift f B neither stopped | nor faltered. Dissolving | squadrons | and whole 1 f B C drop B C slowly battMions | disappearing, | one after another, | in the destructive | 1 f 1? O l?t fire, I affected not | their steady | courage. The ranks | closed up | MARKED SELECTIONS FOR DECLAMATION. 145 turn to the right w 1 B C pueh as befdre, | and each, | treading over | his fallen | comrade, | B C forward pressed | firmly | 6n. The hdrse which Ney rdde | ftU | under him, | 1 E o and he had scarcely | mounted | another, | before it also | sank | to fROlEO fhEC the &arth. Again and ag^in | did that | unflinching | man | feel | wmsECms EC his steed | sink down, | till five | had been shot | under him. h Then, | with his uniform | riddled | with bullets, | and his face | R C near face m f E O prone singed | and blackened | with powder, | he marched on fdot, with m f E C prone drawn | sabre, | at the head | of his m&n. In v4in I did the artillery | hurl its storm | of fire | and lead \ turn to left — to right push f m B C forward into that living | mfes; up to the very muzzles they pressed, | and push fmBC forward push f m B C driving the artillery-men | from their places, | pushed on | through forward w mECPtomsECF and the English | lines. But at that moment | a file of sSldiers, who change to m s C pr m s C had lain | flat | on the ground | behind a low | ridge | of earth, '■ s h E C w R C tr to E C Ft on waist turn to left suddenly r6se | and poured a volley | into their very f^ces. Another slowly wmLCto sLC and another | fdllowed, till one | broad | sheet of flame | rolled on L C their bdsoms, and in such a fierce | and unexpected | flow, | that Ibk LC m LCsLCh human | courage | could not withstand it. They rfeeled, {| shook, j B L C w tr L C to br and to back L C staggered b^ck, || then turned || and flfed. (The fate of Napoleon was writ. The star that had blazed so brightly over the world went down in blood; and the Bravest of the Brave had fought his last battle.) 40. EEGULUS TO THE CARTHAGINIANS. — S. ^c»offj7. (Page 216, Orator's Manual.) 41. SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS. — E. Kellogg. (Page 219, Orator's Manual.) 42. SPARTACUS TO THE ROHAN ENVOYS. (Page 222, Orator's Manual.) 43. MARULLUS TO THE ROMAN POPULACE. — SAafoi^eare. (Page 224, Orator's Manual.) 146 THE SPEAKER. a. WILLIAM TELL OX SWITZERLAND. — J. S. Knowles. (Page 225, Orator's Manual.) 46. WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. —J. S. Knowles. (Page 226, Orator's Manual.) 46. DANGEROUS LEGISLATION, 1849. —^. JfcZ>oweZi. w 1 E O 1 What, in this exigent moment to Virginia, will Massachtisetts do? EO wlEOtos EO Will you, too, (I speak to her as present in her representatives) — 1 E O w KG back w E C to will you, too, forgetting | all | the past, put forth a hand | to smite f C and to m 8 C her I ignominiously | upon the ch^ek? In your own early day of deepest extremity and distress — the day of the Boston | PSrt Bill — when your beautiful | capital was threatened with extinction, and England was collecting her gigantic | power to sweep your liberties | w L C back L back 1 L O away, Virginia, caring for no | odds and counting no | cost, bravely,! 1 L O 1 L O generously, | instantly, | stepped forth for your deliverance. Ad- dressing her through the justice | of your cause | and the agonies | I EO IE O of your condition, | you asked for her hfeart. She gSve it; with wECP to br wtoEO wtoEO scarce the reservation of a thrdb, she gave it freely and gave it ^11. w m tr E to br f E O You called upon her for her blood; — she took her children from her w to 1 E O bSsom, and offered th6m. (/)) But in all I this | she felt and knew that she was m6re than your political I ally — more than your political frifend. She felt and knew that she was your near, | natural bom | relation — such in virtue If E O of your common | descent, but such | far more still | in virtue of the w tr E O to a E O higher attributes of a congenial and kindred nature. Do not be startled at the idea of cdmmon | qualities between the American I B Cavalier and the American Rdundhead. A heroic and unconquer- O Ft w to m B able will, differently directed, is the pervasive and master cement in 1 B o the character of b6th. (ff) Nourished by the same | spirit, sharing as twin- I sisters in the struggle of the heritage of the same | revolu- tion, what is there in any demand of national | faith, or of constitu- MARKED SELECTIOKS FOR DECLAMATION. 147 1 BO tional 1 duty, or of public | morals,] which should separate them n6w? 1 B O down (/) Give us but a part of that devotion which glowed in the heart 1 s R O 1 f R ^ O of the younger | Pitt, and of our own elder j Adams, who, in the R C Ft on waist midst of their agonies, forgot not the countries they had lived for» but mingled with the spasms ol their dying hour a last and implor- .1 R O hRO ing appeal to the parent of all | mercies, that he would remember, m R O t R O R O in eternal | blessings, the land of their birth; give us their devotion 1 s L O w to — give us that of the young enthusiast of Paris, who, listening to msLC msLC Mirabeau in one of his surpassing vindications of human rights, and drop L C pr 1 L C seeing him lall irom his stand, dying, as a physician proclaimed, for back L C the want of blood, (ff) rushed to the sp6t, and as he bent over the ex- L C on R wrist and R Ft piring man, bftred his ^rm for the ISncet, and cried agfiin and agJin, ditto ditto with impassioned voice: "H6re, take it — oh! take it from me! let ditto 1 f B O 1 me die, so that Mirabeau and the liberties of my c8untry may not B O wide 1 B O 1 p&rish! " Give us something only of siich a love of country, and we f B O m s BO turn to h B C tr are sfife, forfever sSfe: the troubles which shadow over and oppress , and tohsBC f liBC us now will pass awfi.y like a slimmer cloud. The fatal element of w b It B C down all our discord will be remSved from among us. (ff) Let gentlemen be adjured by the weal of this and coming ages, by our own and our children's good, by all that we love or that we look for in the progress and the glories of our land, to leave this entire subject, with every accountability it may impose, every remedy it may re- quire, every accumulation of difficulty or degree of pressure it may reach — to leave it all to the interest, to the wisdom, and to the con- science, of those upon whom the providence of God and the constitu- tion of their country have cast it.) (pp) It is said, sir, that at some dark hour of our revolutionary contest, when army after army had been lost; when, dispirited, beaten, wretched, the heart of the boldest and faithfulest died within them, and all, for an instant, seemed conquered, except the uncon- (jjuerable soul of our father-chi^f, — {p) it is said that at that moment, 148 THE SPEAKER. lift f R C w tr E C to rising above all the auguries around him, and buoyed up by the br and to m f s E C_ ^ to inspiration of his immortal work for all the trials it could bring, he h R C and hold aroused anew the sunken spirit of his associates by this confident w to m s R C and daring declaration: (/) " Strip me (said he) of the dejected and w m tr E C and to m e R C suffering remnant of my irmy — take from me all that I have 16ft — w tr R c w to h f leave me but a banner, give me but the means to plant it upon the R C F w tr R C to br mountains of West Augflsta, and I will yet draw around me the 1 R O m men who shall lift tip their bleeding country from the dust, and set R O ^ ^ 1 R down her free! " (jf ) Give to me, who am a son and representative here of sRO fRO wRCtr the same | West | Augusta, give to m6 as a banner the propitious to f m R C measure I have endeavored to support, help me to plant it upon this hR c F mountain-top of our national power, and the land | of Washington, f B O wide ilndiwded and unbrdken, will be our land, and the land of our chil- B o dren's children forBver! 47. PUBLIC OPINION AND THE S^ORD. — T. B. Macaulay. (Page 229, Orator's Manual.) 48. A REMINISCENCE OF LEXINGTON. - Theodore ParTcer. (Page 230, Orator's Manual.) 49. IRISH GRIEVANCES. -JJic/tcM-d L. Shell. (Page 232, Orator's Manual.) 215. Elaborative Style. The long sentence and climax. Terminal Stress (§ 101) gliding into Median (§ 102) wherever the speaker begins to feel the Drift (§ 154) or balance of the Rhetoric. End each climax with the gradual descent in pitch indicated in §§ 83-85. The first two examples contain series of preliminary clauses ending with downward inflections; in the other examples these end with upward inflections. MARKED SELECTIONS FOR DECLAMATION. 149 ^^ In the following many of the words in subordinate clauses marked for downward or downward-circumflex inflections, may take upward itiflections; but if rendered thus the delivery will not be so emphatic. Try an upward inflec- tion on "Alps," etc. 50. EXAMPLES FOR IRELAND.— 7". F. Meagher. Other nations, with abilities far less eminent than those which you possess, having great diiBculties to encounter, have obeyed with hferoism the commandment from which you have swerved, maintain- ing that noble order of existence, through which even the p6orest stftte becomes an instructive chapter in the great history of the w6rld. w 1 R O ^ w m sRC w m Shame upon you! Switzerland — without a colony, without a bRC wms RC gun upon the s^as, without a helping hand from any court in Europe w R C Ft to waist w to 1 R O down — has hfild for centuries her footing on the Alps — spite of the ava- lanche, has bid her little territory sOstain, in peace and plenty, the children to whom she has given birth — has trained those children up in the arts that contribute most to the security, the joy, the dig- w tr to Yr RCP w nity of life — has taught them to depend upon themselves, and for R C to m s c their fortune to be thankful to no oflScious stronger — and, though a lift to h R 3 hold blood-red cloud is breaking over one of her brightest lakes, what- h O shake h ever plague it may portend, be assured of this — the cap of foreign RCF w tomsRCP prone despotism will never again glfeam in the market-place of Altorff ! w 1 L O ^ 1 L O w Sh^me upon you! Norway — with her scanty population, scarce m B L C lift LCtohsLCP ^ drop to a million strong — has kept her flag upon the C&ttegat — has reared a s L C and down race of gallant s&ilors to guard her frozen sdil — year after year has nursed upon that soil a harvest to which the Swede can lay no clSim — has saved her ancient laws — and to the spirit of her frank and 1 L O L O L O snatch L O to L C Ft on waist hardy s6ns | commits | the freedom which she rescued from the w to L O allied sw6rds, when they hacked her crown at Frfederickstadt! w 1 RO w 1 sRO turn ShSme upon you! Holland — with the ocean as her foe — from to 1 s R c the swamp in which you would have simk your | graves, has bid 150 THE SPEAKER. lift the pSlace, and the warehouse c6stlier than the palace, rear their s EC drop to 1 C prone^ ponderous | shapes | above the waves that battle at their hlise — ^has B E C F prone w EOF to outstripped the merchant of the Riaito — has threatened England in fmCF wECto msEC the Thames — has swept the channel with her broom — and, though w s E C tr to br EC ^ w for a day she reeled before the bayonets of Dumoiiriez, she sprang to R c f h O Ft to her ffeet again and struck the tricolor from her dykes! f B O 1 f B O wider B O And ySu — ySu, who are eight millions strong — you, who boast at lift to h B O and drop to 1 BO every meeting that this island is the finest which the sun looks d6wn BO upon — you, who have no threatening | sea to stem, no avalanche to dread — you, who say that you could shield along your coast a thousand | sMl, and be the princes of a mighty | commerce — you, who by the magic of an honest | hand, beneath each summer | sky, wltrEC to brC wto 1 might cull a plenteous | harvest from your s6il, and with the sickle B E c strike aw3,y the scythe of dfeath — you, who have no vulgar | Mstory to rfead — you, who can trace, from field to field, tne evidences of 1 L O civiUzation | older than the Conquest — the relics of a religion | far to h LO 1 L O more ancient than the Gospel — you, who have thus been blessed, thus been gifted, thus been prompted to what is wis^ and generous w 1 B C bk and gtGat — you will make no 6fFort — you will whine, and bfeg, and w E C tr to C on waist w to skulk, in sores and rigs, upon this favored land — you will congregate m E C ^ drop to 1 E C in drowsy councils, and th^n, when the very earth is loosening 1 E C w tr R C and to m beneath your fdet, you will bid a prosperous voyage to your last s E C^ w to br E C w to 1 E C grain of corn— you will be bfeggared by the million — you will parish h E c F by the th6usand, and the finest island which the sun looks down shake h R C m f C upon, amid the jeers and hootings of the world, wiU blacken into a prone lower C 1 C plftgue-spot, a wilderness, a sepulchre. MARKED SELECTIONS FOR DECLAMATION. 151 61. GREAT BRITAIN AND AMERICA. — Jfewman Sail. (Page 235, Orator's Manual.) 62. THE CAUSE OF TEMPERANCE. —7oft» .B. Gough. (Page 237, Orator's Manual.) 53. DUTY OF AMERICA TO GREECE. —iftnrj; Clay. (Page 239, Orator's Manual.) 217. Explanatory and Categorical. The following begin with a short, sharp Terminal (§ 101), becoming, at times. Initial stress (§ 100), and end with a longer Terminal, sometimes becoming Median (§ 103). A few of the selections may take Pure Quality at the opening; all should close with the Orotund (§§ 131-137). 64. SMALL BEGINNINGS OF GREAT HISTORICAL MOVEMENTS. G. S. HiUard. The first | forty | years | of the seventeenth | cSntury were fruit- ful I in striking | occHrrences | and remarkable | mfen. Charles II | was born in 1630. When he had reached an age to understand the rudiments | of historical | knowledge, we may. imagine his royal father to have commissioned some grave and experienced counselor of his court to instrilct the future monarch of England in the great | fevents which had taken plSce in Europe since the opening of the cfentury. w 1 B O Upon what thSmes would the tutor of the young prince have been 1 B O f B likely to discourse ? He would have dwelt upon the struggle between O s RO me SpMn and the Nfetherlands, and upon the Thirty Years' W4r in R O bring sRO to RCP on G6rmany; and he would have recalled the sorrow that fell upon the br hold 1 heart of England when the news came of the disastrous battle of R PrSgue. LC to He would have painted the horror and dismay | which ran through br w to s m L C . France at the assassination of Henry IV. He would have attempted 1 to convey to his young pupil some notion of the military genius of L O 1 _ B L O Maurice of Nassau, of the vast political capacity of Cardinal Riche- 152 THE SPEAKBK. wmLC to br and *° , ,, " .■ ,•/ lieu, and of the splendor and mystery that wrapped the romantic Me of WaUenstein. ^^^^ ^^ But so seemingly insignificant an occurrence as the sailing of a e ROlfHO IRO^ w few Puritans from Delph Haven, in the summer of 1620, would doubt- m E C to 8 R C i. J 1 -„ ,, less have been entirely overlooked; or, if mentioned at all, the young prince might have been told, that in that year a congregation of IfEO s KO wioiiKO fanatical Br6wnists sailed for North Virginia; that, since that time, hold w to 8 RO 6thers of the same factious and troublesome sect had f611owed in w to 1 RO 1 their path, and that they had sent home many cargoes of fish and RO poultry. But with fiur eyes, we can see that this humble event was the 1 BO 1 BO 1 BO seed of far more mfemorable consequences than all the sifeges, battles, 1 B O w m L C to and trfeaties of thp.t momentous pferiod. The effects | of those fields br and to s L C of slaughter | hardly | lasted | longer | than the sm6ke and dust of the contending armies; but the seminal principles which were carried 1 RO wmRC tobr and to America in the Mayflower, which grew in the wholesome air of to B R C 1 RO Ft 1 obscurity and neglect, are at this moment vital forces in the move- R O ^ ments of the world, the extent and influence of which no political foresight can m&asure. Ideas which, for the first time in the history 1 LO of mankind, took | shape | upon our soil, are the springs | of that 8 L C P h CF contest I now going on in Europe | between the Past and the Ftiture, h OF f m the 6nd of which no man can s6e. h L O 1 LO May God inspire us and our rulers with the wisdom to preserve 1 LO and transmit, unimpaired, those advantages | secured to us by our starting | without | the weary | burdens | and perplexing | entangle- ments I of the past. May we throw into the scale of struggling w 1 R w R c freedom in the Old World, not the sword of phj'sical force, but the MARKED SELECTIONS FOR DECLAMATION. 153 to br and to 1 RO I weight of a noble example — the moral argument of a great people, BOIBC mBO w invigorated, but not intftxicated, by their liberty — a power which, mfBC hfBO though unsubstantial, will yet, like the uplifted hands of Moses upon 1 BO 1 BO Hdreb, avail m6re | than hosts | of armed | mfen. 65. IN BEHALF OF STARVING IRELAND. — S. S. Prentiss. (Page 24S, Orator's Manual. ) I 66. DANGER OF THE SPIRIT OF CONQUEST. — Tftonjas (7or««"». (Page 244, Orator's Manual.) 57. HAMLET'S INSTRUCTIONS. — Steftspeare. (Page 246, Orator's Manual.) 318. Demonstrative and Diffusive. The following selec- tions begin with median stress (§ 103) and orotund quality (§ 137); they end with terminal stress (§ 101) and the aspirated orotund (§ 138). 58. IGNORANCE IN OUR COUNTRY A CniMM.— Horace Mann. In all the dungeons of the Old World, where the strong champions of freedom are now pining in captivity beneath the remorseless power of the tyrant, the morning sun does not send a glimmering ray into their cells, nor does night draw a thicker veil of darkness between them and the world, but the lone prisoner Ufts his iron-laden 1 L O arms to heaven in prayer that w<5, the depositaries of freedom and of 1 LO human hopes, may be f3.ithful to our sacred trilst; — while, on the w m R C other hand, the pensioned advocates of despotism stand, with listen- tr and slowly to m ing ear, to catch the first sound of lawless violence that is wafted s RC wm RC tobrCF from our shores, to note the first breach of faith or act of perfidy w to 1 bk R C ^ amongst us, and to convert them into arguments agamst | liberty and the rights | of mSn. There is not a shout sent up by an insane mob, on this side of the 1 L O 8 Atlantic; but it is echoed by a thousand | presses and by ten | thou- 154 THE SPEAKER. L O hsLC msC sand I tongues along every mountain | and valley, on the other. y, jn L C tr to opposite f There is not'a conflagration | kindled | here | by the ruthless hand of and w torn sLCms LC h Violence, but its flame | glares over all | Europe, from horizon | to 8 LCF z6nith. On each occurrence of a flagitious scene, v^hether it be an act of ttlrbulence | and devastation, or a deed of perfidy | or breach 1 E O of faith, monarchs | point them out as fruits of the growth | and turn to m s R C w tr to C Ft on waist omens of the fate | of repubUcs, and claim for themselves and their 1 H O EO heirs a further | extension | of the lease of despotism. The experience of the ages that are past, the hopes of the ages 1 BO that are yet to come, unite their voices in an appeal to tis; they im- f BO wide plore us to think more of the character of our people than of its BO w m LC niimbers; to look upon our vast | natural | resources, not as tempt- to s C ^ ers to ostentation and pride, but as a means to be converted, by the m LO m LO refining | alchemy of education, into mfental | and spiritual | treas- ures; they supplicate us to seek for whatever complacency or self- w EC to m satisfaction | we are disposed to indulge, not in the extent | of our s EC tomsEC prone territory, or in the products | of our soil, but in the expansion | and 1 EO perpetuation | of the means of human | happiness; they beseech us B O to exchange the luxuries of sense | for the joys of charity, and thus wide BO h _B O give to the world the example of a nation whose wisdom | increases m BO 1 f B O 1 wide B O with its prospferity, and whose virtues | are equal to its p6wer. For these ends they enjoin upon us a more earnest, a more universal, a more religious devotion of our exertions and resources to the culture | 1 E O w to br C F w of the yoilthful | mind and heart of the nation. Their gathered | torn EO 1 KO voices I assert | the eternal | truth that, in a Republic, ignorance 1 1 EO is a crime; and that private | immorality is not less an opprobrium 1 B O 1 BO to the state than it is guilt | in the perpetrator. MAKKED SELECTIONS FOli DECLAMATION. 155 59. CHAEACTEE OF WASHINGTON. — C/iaWcs PftiZZips. (Page 249, Orator's Manual.) 60. DESTINY OF AMERICA. — Charles Phillips. (Page 250, Orator's Manual.) 61. EULOGY ON LAFAYETTE. - Udward Everett. (Page 261, Orator's Manual.) 62. THE TBUE KINGS OF THE EAHTH. — John Euskin. (Page 253, Orator's Manual.) 63. THE AMERICAN FLAG. — J. M. Drake. (Page 251, Orator's Manual.) 64. LOOK ALOFT. —J^. iawj-encc. (Page 256, Orator's Manual.) 65. FALL OF W ARS AW . — Thomas Campbell. (Page 266, Orator's Manual.) 219. Illustrative: References to man and natiire. As a rule, on objects referred to, use a downward bend or inflection (§ 50), and sometimes the circumflex (§§ 69, 70). These objects should bo articulated distinctly, which will tend to make the predominating Terminal stress (§ 101) short and sharp, or change it to Initial {§ 100). When, again, there is much Drift (§ 154), the Terminal will become Median stress (§ 102). Orotund Quality (§ 135). 66. SUPFEKINGS AND DESTINY OF THE PILGEIMS. Edward Everett. Methinks I see it now, that one | solitary, | adventurous vessel, the Mayflower of a forlorn h6pe, freighted with the prospects of a future I state, and bound across the unknown | s6a. I behold it pursuing, with a thousand | misgivings, the uncertain, the tedious m 8 E C up and prone w R C to br w voyage. Suns | rise and s6t, and weeks and mfinths pSss, and wJn- niRC to msC wmC to f ter surprises them on the dfeep, but brings them not the sight of the m EC wished-for shdre. I see them n6w, scantily | supplied with provi- sions, crowded almost to suffocation | in their ill-stored prison, de- m tr ECandw tomf EC layed by c31ms, pursuing a circuitous rdute; and now driven in fury h E C h E C pr before the raging tempest, on the high and giddy w^ve. The awful 15G THE SPEAlvER. h EC ^^^ J, , , ■ ' ? voice of the st6rm howls through the nggmg; the laboring masts C down to 1 E C ■, o J ^^ '^ ■ Beem straining from their base; the dismal sound ot the pumps is 1 L o 1 L O higher m O m O w heard; the ship leaps, as it were, m^dly, trom billow to billow; the mtrLC wlLCtols LC ^, a ^■ ocean breaks, and settles with ingulfing floods over the lloatmg 1 L C 1 LC 1 LC dfeck, and beats, with deadening, shivering weight, against the • 1 L c staggered vfessel. I see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their all but desperate | undertaking, and landed, at last, after a 1 BO few I months' | passage, on the ice-clad rocks ] of Plymouth, — wider B O wide weak I and weary | from the voyage, | poorly | armed, | scantily | BO w h B CwlBC wmsBC provisioned, without | shelter, without | mfians, surrounded by hos- tile tribes. Shut, now, the volume of history, and t611 me,' on any principle of human probability, what shall be the f&te of this handful of ad- 1 tr w E O venturers? T6\\ me, man of military sdence, in how many months w s EC were they all swept 6fi' by the thirty savage tribes enumerated 1 tr w L O within the early limits of New England. Tell me, politician, how o I6ng did this shadow of a colony, on which your conventions and w B L C 1 tr w B treaties had not smiled, Bnguish on the distant coast? Student of O BO B C • B ■ history, compElre for me the baffled | projects, the desferted | sfetUe- C B C ments, the abandoned I adventures, of 6ther | times, and find the B O parallel I of this! Was it the winter's storm, beating upon the house- less I heads of women and children ? was it hard | labor and spare | mi5als? was it disease? was it the tomahawk? was it the deep | malady of a blighted | hope, a ruined | Enterprise, and a broken | heart, | aching, in its last | moments, at the recollection of the If EO B EO w loved and left, beyond the s6a? — was it some, or all of these united, lECto msEC msEO that hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fSte? And wbC I EO EO^ is it possible that neither of these causes, that not all | combined, MAKKED SELECTIONS FOE DECLAMATION. 157 wlB C 1 R O were able to blast | this bud | of hope! Is it pSssible that from a wm a C beginning so fefeble, so frM, so worthy not so much of admiration 1 R O f B O wider as of pity, there has gone forth a progress | so stfeady, a growth | so BO h and wider BO 1 BO Wonderful, | an expansion | so imple, a reality | so impdrtant, a h BO m Bo promise, yet to be fulfilled, | su glorious! 67. NATIONS AND HUMANITY. — G. W. Curtis. (Page 260, Orator's Manual.) 68. AN APPEAL TO THE PEOPLE. — John Bright. (Page 262, Orator's Manual.) DIGNIFIED AND GRAVE. 220. Predominating time slow; pitch low; force moderate (§ 116), effusive (§ 112) and expulsive (§§ 115, 119); stress median (§ 103) and in strong passages terminal (§ 101); quahty orotund (§ 135). 69. GALILEO GiOAJ.'El.— Edward Everett* (P) There is much | in every way | in the city | of Florence | to excite | the curiosity, | kindle | the imagination, and gratify | the t^ste; but among all | its fascinations, | addressed to the sfinse, the memory, and the h^art, there was none to which I more frequently gave a meditative | hour, | during a year's | residence, | than to the w 1 HO spot I where Galileo | Galilei | sleeps | beneath the marble | floor | of 1 E C w m R C tr Santa Crdce; no building on which I gazed with greater | reverence | and to m s E C than I did upon that modest | mansion at Arcetri; villa once and prison, in which that venerable | sage, | by the command of the In- m s C prone quisition, passed the sad [ closing years of his life. Of all the wonders | of ancient | and modem | art, statues ] and paintings, jewels | and manuscripts, the admiration | and delight | of ages, there was nothing I beheld with more affectionate | awe | w 1 L , O h than that poor 1 little spy-glass, through which the human eye first | * This Selection belongs in S 219. 168 THE SPEAKBE. L C F change pierced | the clouds | of visual | error, which | from the creation | to m B f L C and drop , of the world | had involved | the system | of the Universe. There are occasions in life | in which great | minds | live yfears of rapt I enjojTnent | in a mOment. (0) I can fancy the emdtions of hRCF / GaUleo, when, first 1 raising | the newly- constructed telescope | change to h K C to the heavens, he saw fulfilled the grand | prophecy | of Coper- change to h C F h C nicuB, and beheld the planet V&nus, crfescent like the mdon. (A 0) It was such another moment as that | when the immortal printers IfLO of Mfentz and Strasburg received the first copy of the Bible into 1 8 LO lift f LC their hfinds; like that, when Columbus, through the gray | dawn m f LC of the 12th of October, 1493, first beheld the shores of San SMva- down 1 R O dor; like that when Le Vferrier received back from Berlin the RCF tidings that the predicted pBnet was found. 1 LO 1 LO ff (0) Y6s! noble Galileo! thou wast right: "It dofes move." 1 BO BO Bigots may make thee recant it; but it moves | still. (A O) T6s, hRC F wtotrRC the earth | moves; and the plinets move; and the mighty waters wmRCto ms RC w move; and the great sweeping | tides of air move; and the em- tobrRC wmRC tomsRC and f pires of mfen move; and the world of thought moves ever | on- EC and to h R hRC whsRC ward I and ever | upward | to higher facts and bdlder theories, h 8 R C drop b R C prone P (0) Hang up || that poor | little | spy-glass; it has done | its work. Franciscans and Dominicans may deride | thy discoveries | / n6w; (A 0) but the time will come | when from two | hundred | observatories, | in Europe and America, | the glorious | artillery | hfBC whBCto X^'of science | shall nightly assault the skies; but they shall gain no | hsBC wmBO and conquests | in those glittering fields, before which thine shall be down forgotten. m BO / (0) Rest in pfeace, great | Columbus | of the heivens! like SELECTIONS FOR declamatiok. 159 wm BC w mBC w mBC him I scorned, | persecuted, | troken-hearted. In other | ages, in distant | hemispheres, when the votaries of science, with solemn | acts lift BO to h of consecration, shall dedicate their stately edifices to the cause of BO 1 BO knowledge and of truth, | th^ name | shall be mentioned | with honor. 70 Crime its own Detector Daniel Webster, 265 CM. 71 Adams and Jefferson Edward Everett, 266 72 Death of Copernicus Edward Everett, 268 " 73 Speech of Vindication - Robert Emmett, 269 " 74 Death of John Q. Adams I. E. Holmes, 271 DRAMATIC AND DESCRIPTIVE. Fast Movement, § 222. 76 Loohinvar's Ride -Sir Walter Scott, 273 76 How they Brought the Good News from Ghent Robert Browning, 274 " Moderately Fast Movement, § 223. 77 The Battle of Ivry T. B. Macaulay, 276 ' 78 The Burial March of Dundee, Wm. E. Aytoun, 277 " 79 Marmion and Douglas Sir Walter Scott, 280 " 80 The Song of the Camp Bayard Taylor, 282 " Moderate Movement, § 224. 81 The Wreck of the Hesperus, H. W. Longfellow, 283 " 82 Marco Bozzaris Fitz-G. Halleck, 286 83 The Launching of the Ship - H. W. Longfellow, 287 84 Three Days in the Life of Columbus Belavigne, 289 Moderately Slow Movement, § 225. 85 The Baron's Last Banquet A. G. Greene, 291 " 86 Horatius at the Bridge T. B. Macaulay, 292 87 The Sailor Boy's Dream Bimond, 294 " 88 The Relief of Luoknow Robert Lowell, 296 " 89 Charge of the Light Brigade, Alfred Tennyson, 298 " 90 The Bugle Song Alfred Tennyson, 299 " 91 The Dying Christian to his Soul Alexander Pope, 300 " 92 The Burial of Moses Mrs. Alexander, 300 " 93 The Sky John Ruskin, 301 " 94 Avalanches of Jungfrau Alp, G. B. Cheever, 303 " 160 THE SPEAKER. 95 The First View of the Heavens 0. M. Mitchel, 305 0. 96 Chamouny - S. T. Coleridge, 306 97 Thanatopsis W. C. Bryant, 308 HUMOKOnS. 98 Hobbies T.BeW. Talmage 311 99 The Bachelor's Soliloquy , 312 100 Miss Maloney on the Chi- nese Question - Scribner's Monthly ,313 101 Brother Watkins John B. Gough, 315 102 A Catastrophe * 316 103 Buzfuz vs. Pickwick Chas. Dickens, 317 104 Speech of 51. Hector l)e Longuebeau T. Mosely, 321 105 Caudle has been made a Mason Douglas Jerrold, 322 106 The Jester Condemned Horace' Smith, 323 107 A Modest Wit Anon., 324 108 The Shadow on the Blind , 326 109 The March to Moscow Robert Southey, 328 110 History of John Day Thos. Hood, 330 111 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog- Oliver Goldsmith, 332 112 Truth in Parentheses Thos. Hood, 333 PATHETIC. 113 The Leper N. P. Willis, 334 114 The Bridge of Sighs Thos. Hood, 337 115 David's Lament for Absa- lom N. P. Willis, 340 j!^= The author is under obligations to Messrs. Houghton, Osgood & Co., Charles Scribner's Sons, and other publishers, as well as to Robert Lowell, Epes Sargent, and several authors, holding the copy- right of various Selections in the foregoing pages, for their kind per- mission to use the same. PRIZE JUNIOR AND SENIOR ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE, 1882-'92. THE PURITANS, AND PRACTICAL LIBERTY. Maclean Pkize Oration, by W. K. Shelby, '83. At the rise of Puritanism in England the destinies of all Europe were approachiug a crisis. Some measure of freedom had indeed been achieved for the consciences and the minds of men. But despotism in the state was lifting a mighty arm to throttle the spirit of moral and intellect- ual liberty : for frail as yet was the offspring of that great labor, the Reformation. The fate of society for all future time was involved in the struggle which England had the glory to begin, which caught inspiration from the cry of Wycliffe and Hooker and Hampden, which received its most powerful support from the mighty pen of Milton. But why was it in England that monarchy should receive the first blow ? Germany and Switzerland had taken the lead in emancipating the human mind ; Puritanism in Eng- land differed little in creed from Protestantism on the continent : wherein lay the power which gave it to England to overturn tyranny, to consummate the Reformation, and to become the parent of constitutional liberty throughovit the world ? Will you explain the fact by saying that the British nation was younger, more vigorous than the rest of Europe, and thus more capable of shaking off oppression ? Will you answer me that the brilliant thinkers of the time had peculiarly enlightened the minds of Englishmen upon the 161 162 THE SPBAKEK. everlasting rights of communities ? Does the galling oppression of a tyrannous line of kings account for the grandest movement in behalf of practical liberty the world had ever seen ? No ; the key-note has not yet been struck. You have not yet supplied the woof for these theories. There was a deep moral power which permeated and made effective all other causes, — a power which emanated from the hearts of the Puritans, from the fundamental principles of their character. In them alone was found the spirit which no vicissitudes of fortune could turn from its course ; the spirit which contained energy sufa.cient to carry it through revolution and anarchy ; the spirit in which was vitality sufficient to sustain life until the winter of trial was over, and spring should develop it in its glory. You all know the Puritan character. Its marks are on the surface : "he who runs may read them." You will not call them bigots ; because their creed was taken directly from the word of the Most High. You will not say they were fanatics ; because the ends for which they struggled were not imaginary, but real and practical. You will not pronounce them disloyal ; because they were bound to truth and their God by a tie which was not to be broken for the sake of any other allegiance. If their minds were narrow, charge it to the intellectual darkness, the shadows of which had not yet been dispelled. If they were intolerant and cold, the blame should be laid upon that cruel church whose evils were still in them by inheritance. The faults thej' had find many excuses ; their virtues deserve the highest praise. How shall we cease to vener- ate their fidelity to conscience ! Elizabeth's preference for ritual could not beguile it. It could not be trenched upon by her " Ecclesiastical Court." It held out against the oppressions of Laud, and preferred hardship, poverty, exile to submission. How shall we cease to admire their sublime fortitude ! Charles could not break it down by threats, nor by persecution. It stood grandlj^, immovably PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 163 firm, before the terrific charge of Eupert, at Marston Moor and on Naseby Field. And when, at Naseby, there went up from the invincible ranks of the Puritans the shout of victory, Charles Stuart fled in terror from the field, and the knees of every despot in Europe were loosed with dread. Not for one generation only, not for one land was that day's battle fought. The blessings there won by Cromwell and his "Ironsides" are enjoyed by every civilized country in the world to-day. Yet when England, sick of confusion, turned once more, for a short time, to monarchy, a licen- tious court and a scurrilous press laughed at the eccentrici- ties of the Puritans, and pronounced their principles a failure. " But it is not from the laughers alone that the philosophy of history is to be learnt." I point you to Eng- land, delivered from tyranny ; to her affairs, directed with superior wisdom during the darkest portion of her his- tory ; to the great measure of political and religious liberty secured to her citizens, and enjoyed by them in increasing fulness to-day. I point you to her proud literature, influ- enced and leavened by the genius of Bunyan and of Milton, crowned with " Paradise Lost," its brightest jewel, and I ask you whether Puritanism did fail in the land of its birth. Or, if the qualities of the immense trunk are too broad to be estimated with certainty, let us examine the qualities and the fruit of a branch. At the darkest hour of its history the spirit of Puritan- ism turned from its native shores, and, looking aloft for guidance, sought a spot where it might work out its des- tiny. Fifty millions of us now turn our thoughts to Plym- outh Eock, and salute with filial affection that heaven- directed little band. Our hearts are filled with gratitude when we reap in security and at peace the plenteous harvest of blessings which has sprung from the seed of their sow- ing. Puritan piety and perseverance colonized our land. Puritan valor asserted and made good our independence. Puritan conservatism warded off disruptions and ruin, 164 THE SPEAKER. while Puritan humanity wiped from our national escutcheon the foul curse of slavery. The strongest, surest stones in the structure of our nation were taken from that quarry at Plymouth. The most cherished of our institutions owe their prosperity, in a great degree, to the vigor infused into them by Puritanism. That spirit has followed us all the days of our national life, giving us prudence in youth, dig- nity and strength in manhood, restraining from evil ways, inspiring with love for justice and for perfect freedom. It has delivered the Church from all obligation to the State. It has made the priest a pastor, and religion a " reasonable service." Such is Puritanism in America. If its success be doubt- ful in the Old World, its triumph is assured in the New. England's overreaching colonial policy may be a disgrace to the spirit of Cromwell's prudent reign. The cruel wrongs of Ireland may be a dishonor to the memory of Hampden, the patriot and the philanthropist. But there is a land where Puritan honesty and Puritan justice have prevailed — where the glad song of an emancipated race answers back the cry of Ireland's oppressed. And upon the bosom of every ocean I see the hopeful faces of those whose prows are turned hitherward : for America is the Ararat towards which the shattered and storm-tossed barks of all nations are drifting slowly home. THE FRENCH PHILOSOPHERS AND THE REIGN OF TERROR. Baikd Pbize Oration, Edwin M. Eoyle, '83. Feancb is the puzzle of history. It is diflElcult to understand the co-existence of such genius, such resources, such power with such instability. But the enigma belongs not alone to the present ; it had its origin in the 18th cen- PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 165 tiiry. The same age that saw the laws of conduction and radiation of heat established by Prevost and Fourier, polari- zation of light by Mains, the theory of oxidization and res- piration by Lavoisier, and the whole basis of future science by Buffon and Cuvier — the same age that saw such splen- did progress in literature and science, was the witness, likewise, of scenes that are unparalleled except by the atro- cities of the negroes of St. Domingo. Is civilization then, as Carlyle intimates, "only a wrappage through which the savage nature of man can still burst, in- fernal as ever" ? And must we, with Carlyle, relegate the Reign of Terror to " the mysteries that men cannot ex- plain " ? The Revolution, up to the year '93, is easily explicable ; it was the retribution visited upon tyranny. The first murders proceeded from a real irritation caused by a sense of danger. But Feudalism and Monarchy were things of the past : the people were sovereign and con- fidently cried to the world, " We are free ; imitate us ! " And yet the pen of history has blotted out the word Revo- lution, and in its place has written Terror. We cannot believe this to be, as in the rebellion of St. Domingo, the mere ebullition of human brutality. The thoughts and sentiments of a people are the powers which determine what a nation shall be and the history which it shall have. The Reign of Terror was the logical sequence of thought, philosophic thought. Historians have been quick to acknowledge the tremendous influence of the French phi- losophers on the heginniny of the Revolution, but none, so far as I know, have examined the characteristics of the Reign of Terror, showing their origin in French philoso- phy and their coincidence with its development. Neither historians nor the men themselves were, doubtless, aware of it, but the sinister crowds that surged through the Palais Royal and sat in the benches of the Jacobin Club — men apparently bereft of reason and devoid of principle — acted, nevertheless, from principle, principle that became 166 THE SPEAKER. a kind of religion without faith, God, or immortality, but capable of evoking heroism, fanticism, even martyrdom. The opening challenge of the new religion was sounded by Helvetius. He taught men that judgment was a sensi- bility ; that self-interest was the basis of justice, and pleas- ure the rule of self-interest. To be virtuous, therefore, one had only to abandon himself to the drift of appetite. France eagerly accepted a system of ethics whose mon- strous paradox made morality consist in immorality. It is not strange, then, that we should discover in Prance at this time not only unparalleled licentiousness, but an ignorance of the fundamental conceptions of virtue and justice. Law books now are shut, and crime, as crime, goes unpunished. The home is a forgotten superstition ; the number of foundlings is doubled ; marriage is unknown, except that " republican marriage " in which men and women, with cruel sarcasm, were tied together in death's wedlock and sunk by hundreds beneath the waters of France. Had the inoffensive philosopher who exclaimed, " All becomes legitimate and even virtuous in behalf of the public safety," lived a few years longer, he would have heard the logical echo of his philosophy in the Jacobin motto : " The Republic must march to liberty over corpses." But we discover, likewise, in this world of Terror, a gross impiety. An encyclopaedist, not long before, had refused an article on " God," on the ground that He was no longer of interest to the French nation. It was too true. Eeligion had vanished in a laugh. The church and its inconsistencies had been covered by Voltaire with merited obloquy. Faith, that would have resisted the sensualism of Helvetius, and the materialism of the ency- clopgedists, succumbed to the inexpressible ridicule of Voltaire. His influence, like a subtle but beneficent poison, was the source both of life unto life and of death unto death. Look to the frontier ! See starving, undisciplined PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 167 peasantry, by the force of sheer enthusiasm, beating back the best armies of the world. There is the influence of Voltaire. His ideas of justice, freedom, and humanity did honor to the century in which he lived. But look within ; see the churches looted, burned, or made the scene of disgusting orgies ; the bells run into cannon ; the plate swept into the mint ; the priests turned Satyrs. We can behold at Lyons a typical scene : An ass, clothed in priestly vestments, drags the Scriptures through the streets to the grave of Chalier, where the Holy Book is burnt amid the imprecations of the mob, and its dust scattered in derision into the the face of Heaven. There is the influence of Voltaire. While he did not deny the exist- ence of a God, every system of positive belief, everything that claimed sanctity or invoked faith, met with calumny and withering irony, which, with flashes of divine genius, lit up the enshrouding darkness only to leave the world in deeper gloom. Morality and religion have thus disappeared, but the work of destruction is incomplete. It remained for Hol- bach to dethrone that last relic of superstition — God. If, as Helvetius and Condillac taught, we know nothing except through the senses, then our knowledge is limited to the external and material world ; God is unknowable, and nature is the beginning and end. Everything spiritual is a delusion. Immortality is an absurdity. Reason and physical enjoyment constitute the highest end of man, " for, with death, the farce is over." On the day of Corpus Christi, 1792, the world took quiet and devout part in the solemn festival. The day of Corpus Christi, 1793, wit- nessed the triumph of Holbach. The national convention of France kneel before the high altar of Notre Dame and worship Reason in the person of ruined Virtue. What a splendid exhibition of the power of philosophy to satisfy the soul ! Kneel before that shrine, humble seeker after truth, and while you chant the hymn to Liberty, for- 168 THE SPEAKER. get, if you can, that your goddess of pure reason is a painted harlot. Hitherto the work of the philosophers had been negative ; they hesitated to build where they had destroyed, but with Rousseau there arose a positive system, a system as dangerous as it was fascinating, for it was divorced from disciplined intelligence and scientific reason. He did not hesitate to affirm, and France, his devoted pupil, did not hesitate to believe, that the only perfect form of govern- ment was one in which " each one uniting himself with the whole, shall yet obey himself and remain as free as before." The will, he claimed, was free and could not be represented. Law, therefore, was not law unless ratified individually by the people. No one was bound to obey a law to which he had not given consent. It followed, there- fore, that we become a law unto ourselves. But, inasmuch as our will is free, and may not be to-morrow what it was to-day, we are not bound to obey to-morrow the law that we approved to-day. But legislation looks to the future, and is, therefore, a palpable absurdity, for no intelligence can anticipate the will of the future. Law must end, therefore, in arbitrary decrees enforced by those that have the power. How remarkably coincident are the facts with the logic. Louis XVI. was executed, but not without a trial. Marie Antoinette was murdered, but not without the semblance of a trial; but as the Terror flings away the last vestige of restraint, the flood of death sweeps over the Gironde and Danton, and finally engulfs the " Mountain " itself by "decree without forms of law.'' Morality, religion, God, and Government, — all are blot- ted out. The flood-gates are open. How shall life escape the universal deluge ? When is life respected where there is no morality ? When is life valued where there is no religion ? When is life sacred where there is no God ? When is life protected where there is no Government? The forty-four thousand prisons of France fill and empty PRIZE ORATIONS OF PIUNCKTON COLLEGE. 169 to the steady click of the guillotine. Thousands perish daily on battle-field and scaffolds and no one shudders — all act without regret, without remorse. Can it be that this has come from the womb of philosophy ? Vultures line the banks of the Rhine and Loire and pick the bones of mother and babe, priest and patriot, statesman and scholar — none are spared. Death is poured out in great floods until the insatiable Terror chokes from excess of blood. Is it possible that the quiet students of the eigh- teenth century could have dreamed of this ? Did the Phil- istine lords dream of the result when they took the blind vengeful Samson from his cell, struck off his fetters and put him within reacli of the pillars of the temple ? philosophers ! men of thought ! you were honest ; you hoped to free the world, but you sowed the wind; your beloved France reaped the whirlwind, and history has called the ghastly harvest the Reign of Terror ! THE PRmCIPLE OF HARMONY IN NATURE AND HUMANITY. Maclean Prize Obation, by James M. Baldwin, '84. The worlds are hung on a single thread. If the cord be cut that holds a globe in place, the fatal word is passed through space, and the laws of order yield to the reign of ruin. The bee hums as she flies with her burden from the flower to the hive ; the sunset is a great painting, hung in the common palace of mankind; the distant city binds the tramp of a thousand busy feet in a low, sweet murmur, and the trickling brook cuts, with quiet toil, strange forms in the living rock, or wears a polish on the jewel in its bed. In all her forms of expression. Nature has one voice. Genius is constructive, not creative. Man interprets what he finds, and as his interpretation is true to the 170 THE SPEAKEE. models of nature and of life, he becomes the poet and the artist. Some one of nature's pictures seen, remembered ; some one of nature's sounds heard and caught — this it is that moves the tongue, the brush, the pen, and in its feeble imitation excites the wonder of a continent. Does the writer pour from his pen a flood of inspiring words that rouse the heart to faith and duty ? It is only the outburst of a troiibled storm within. Has the poet a strange spell that transforms the dull and lifeless into a panting, breath- ing organism ? It is only the deeper expression of this hidden spirit of unison with other forces that goads the imagination, that guides the reason, that enflames the zeal of every ambitious soul. It flits in the . smoke of Dante's Inferno ; it embodies the form of Luther's devils ; it in- spires the wings of Calvin's faith ; it goes with Milton beyond the veil of the highest heavens, and brings to earth things too great for man to utter ; it sings in the tumult of Byron's passion, it urges Bunyan's pilgrim on his weary way, it rises from the flames of martyrs. Harmony of color, sound and scent, delicacy of expression, gentleness of touch — all are the manifestations of one grand princi- ple that appeals to our inner and better nature, and guides us to excellence in every sphere. The stroke of thunder is the swell of a thousand pipes, that Te-echo in the roar of the cataract and the bursting of the shell, speaking more distinctly in some great deed of man that moves the world of thought or feeling, and finding grander expression still in the conquest of some vice or passion, and the bursting of the bonds of sin. I sometimes wish we had another sense, to unite the functions of those we have in one, and to combine their impressions in a harmonious whole. Let the most beautiful shades and combinations of color, the most graceful forms, and the sweetest sounds join in an appeal to this new sense, and what rapture would then result ! And thus combine all that is noblest and best in the PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 171 moral would, and we rise into purer harmony than nature yields — the harmony of action. The moaning of the wind in the forest, the bleating of the lost lamb on the hillside, the newly-made grave in the church-yard, these do not speak alone ; but the aching heart, the generous impulse, the noble deed, unite with these in a full and rounded anthem. As one feels the grasp and pressure of a friendly hand, and gazes into the still depths of a loving eye, whose lidha$ lifted freely that the tear of sympathy may trickle to the ground ; as one sees another's lip tremble with his sorrow and another's breast heave with his distress, he hears a bar of the grandest melody that the chords of human feeling afford. Character is harmony or discord. Feelings of humanity rule the individual, stir society, and ere long will judge in the councils of nations. Man is a unit. The grave-yards of the world are common property ; famine and pestilence are common foes. Give the misanthrope his way ; let him wrap himself in his shroud of self-sufficiency, and cast away the slender staff of human sympathy and help ; let him steel his heart to the cries of a suffering world ; let him pass the soldier wounded on the field, tear down the roof that shelters the widow and her babe ; let him scoff at the gentleness of woman and the confidence of childhood ; let him see, un- moved, the characters of blood with which death has written his doom upon his door-posts ; and let him fling into the face of Heaven the last end of a misspent life. I ask, is this sufficient ? Is this the fairest flower that humanity bears ? Is this the end of our gropings and yearnings for truth and life ? Are the joys of youth, the aspirations of manhood, the faith and devotion, the gentleness and love of mankind, only the scattered rays that render the dark- ness more terrible ? Or is there a sun to which these rays converge, a sequel to this book of problems, that our blind eyes cannot read ? Shall we ever reach the notes that we now attempt to strike upon our broken strings ? 172 THE SPEAKER. These are questions that probe the heart like a surgeon's knife. The long corridors of time have never ceased to echo with the cry, " What beyond ? " Here reason has fal- tered and philosophy has failed. Here the Great Architect has erected a wall to hide the mysteries of the eternal world. Like Noah's dove, the soul returns again from its weary flight through a world of uncertainty and doubt. Now leave the misanthrope in his indifference and come to the scene of conflict, toil, and pain. Draw back the cur- tain from the throngs of crowded life and gaze upon the sea of conflicting human efforts ; grasp the hot palm and feel the quick pulse of fever; smooth the wrinkles of old age; wear the tattered rags of poverty ; breathe the dense, foul air that hangs over great cities like the black wing of death; hear the stifled cry that ascends from tenement 'houses and crowded lanes ; penetrate the dens of shame and crime ; trace the line of crape that encircles the globe and binds man in his brotherhood of woe ; touch the nerve that throbs and stiffens with the heat and cold of life's summer and winter, and then address yourself to the prob- lems that every age presents. Then you are moving in time with the tread of God's great army. Do you feed the hungry and clothe the naked ? So does earth, with her thousand products. Do you cleanse society and elevate the condition of man ? So do the majestic streams that bear away upon their bosoms the germs of disease and the seeds of decay. Do you train men's minds and hearts in the truths of morality and reli- gion ? So does nature in all her forms of purity and beauty. This is the deepest harmony of creation. This stems the tide of opposing interests ; this silences the clash of war ; this consecrates the din of commerce. This is the song that the angels sang at the birth of the Man of Sorrows ; the song that has drowned the groans, the balm that has healed the wounds, of nineteen centuries. The elevation of human- ity is the mission and the seal of faith. PRIZE ORATIONS OF PEIKCETON COLLEGE. 173 With such an end life becomes real, and one contributes his share to the universal symphony of being. He feels for the sorrowing, cares for the suffering, and weeps for the sinful. A barren, desolate future becomes a blessed present, and sacred joy consecrates the sorrows of the past, as the rays of the setting sun tint the clouds that rest upon the horizon. ANOTHER SIDE OF THE FIFTEENTH AMEND- MENT. Baibd Prize Okation, by Jamics Makk Baldwin, '84. The emancipation of the slave in the Southern States was the boldest and most decisive political step that the New World has ever seen. And the results of this step are not yet complete, for questions of the deepest social com- plexity still agitate the land and demand immediate ad- justment. The growth of great moral ideas necessitates corresponding constitutional changes, but these changes never precede the growths to which they belong if they are to be permanently supported and if due provision is to be made for the emergencies that they present. Prohibition is the grandest issue that is now before the country, but neither it nor any other measure for the suppression of intemperance should be adopted until its practical utility is attested and the people are educated to its enforcement. It awaits the popular voice to become, with the abolition of slavery, the crown of social progress in the nineteenth century. Radicalism has been the greatest enemy to the growth of republican principles in France. When ideas of constitutional freedom are forced upon a people who have not indorsed their theory or adopted their practice, revolu- tion and blood are the pen and ink with which they will record their protest. 174 THE SPEAKER. This is the principle that must guide us in estimating the results of the fifteenth amendment. It may be true that public opinion in the northern States would have been satisfied with nothing less ; but it was not the northern States that were concerned. It may be true that maturer legislation could not be consummated and action was im- perative ; still the great laws of social development can- not be set aside by presidential decree, and the logical results of immature measures cannot be avoided on the ground that maturer measures could not be consummated. It is true that the South was blind to the enormity of the slave traffic and did yet recognize the right of all men to freedom ; but universal suffrage did not open her eyes to the beauties of political justice or elevate her estimate of the negro as a social factor. It was not on the part of the whites of the South, however, that this statute was most premature and its results most perplexing. Private intel- ligence, political wisdom, and military sagacity were by them exhibited that would speedily have readjusted dis- cordant elements in society and harmonized opposing fac- tions. But the negro was to be provided for; the negro was to be elevated from debasing servitude to the grandest freedom ; the negro, who had been educated in the school of implicit obedience, whose arithmetic had been the count- ing of a hundred stripes and the weighing of his daily cot- ton ; whose music had been the clanging of chains and the baying of hounds ; whose religion was the superstition of the African jungle mingled with the most solemn rites of Christian worship — he is to be transformed by legislative enactment into a statesman and a sage, and is to enter the political arena on an equal footing with the descendant of the Puritan ! On an equal footing, did I say ? Would Heaven it had been so ! The result had not been doubt- ful. But the race was not equal. Two to one was the proportion of ballots that weighted the same. In the hands of the black were all the engines of political power. He PEIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 175 bore before him his title to supremacy, ready made out and signed by the leaders of a conquering people. At his side marched the advance guard of a victorious army, whose orders were not sealed, but whose powers were discretion- ary in supporting him in the exercise of his newly acquired rights. He is to become legislator and executive ; the patronage of a dozen States is to rest at his disposal. No longer to obey the commands and dread the displeasure of a superior, he is to be granted an opportunity of balancing his life accounts and of imposing his own terms upon the proud lords whom the fortunes of war had placed at his feet. And he used this power in a most unexpected manner. Himself too ignorant to hold the reins of government, he played into the hands of the first who espoused his cause. All who bore the grand name of Republican were to him the apostles of mystical freedom and utopian delight. Born to obey, he knew not how to rule, but fancied a change of masters was the dawn of freedom. Adventurers whom an old society had cast out, came to aid the organi- zation of a new. Profligate soldiers, whose term of service had expired, came to bear away, in the name of law, what they had failed to secure in the name of plunder. Political vultures of every name flew to the feast. Not content with the substance of the white population, they bled the poor negroes who gave them power, throwing them an occa- sional sop to feed their faith. The condition of South Carolina, especially, from 1870 to '76, was truly appalling. The misrule of the five years preceding had exhausted her resources ; her debt was en- larging, her tax rates increasing, her credit gone ; her courts were a travesty on the fair name of justice ; her law-makers were hirelings ; her executives thieves. Frank- lin J. Moses, Governor from '70 to '74, is now incarcerated in Ludlow Street Jail, convicted of "sharping" in the streets of New York. R. K. Scott, his immediate predeces- 176 THE SPEAKER. sor, is on trial for his life in a western State for the murder of a friend of his son. Senator Patterson, of the former administration, was caught by United States officials during a raid on a gambling den in Washington. After the elec- tion of '76, laborers were employed for days in the State House at Columbia, cleansing its chambers, and rendering them fit to be occupied by a body of gentlemen. During these years there were less than twenty public schools in the State, and these were sustained by private funds, as charitable institutions. Is it strange that the press, the tribune of plebeian liber- ties, cried " Veto " ? Is it strange that intellectual and commercial energies were prostrated ? Is it strange that the planter forgot his crops and the student his books, that the marts became lonely and the streets forsaken, when labor was unproductive and capital unpossessed, when the widow emptied her stocking to pay the tax on the miserable roof that covered her head as a premium on public ex- travagance, debauchery, and crime, and as a bid to desperate adventurers. Is it strange that men of wide learning, un- sullied honor, and the truest patriotism refused to aid the enforcement of laws passed by a body of drunken freedmen, and framed by demagogues that would shame the preten- sions of Kleon, the Greek — laws that were subversive of the plainest maxims of political wisdom and fatal to the slight vestige of promise that the war had left ? Is it strange that the veterans of Gettysburg and of Chancel- lors ville forgot that they had been subdued, forgot that the opponent of Lee was President of the United States, re- membered only the past of prosperity and plenty and peace, and adopted measures both fair and foul to restore Caucasian rule ? I do not defend these measures. The Ku-Klux was the most infamous institution that ever flourished in a civilized community, with one exception — and that exception is negro rule as it then existed. The tissue ballot is the PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 177 weapon of deceit and fraud. It destroys the law of repre- sentation, upon which democratic government is based. It is an infringement of private rights, a direct violation of the provisions of the constitution. But in the South deceit and fraud were not new ; an enemy was to be met of ten years' experience with the same weapons. And as for democratic government and the constitution, both had long since become delusions. By subterfuge and deceit a general breaks the enemy's lines around Vicksburg, and a cry arises from all the land: "Splendid achievement!" " Masterpiece of generalship ! " By subterfuge and deceit an election is carried, whereby intelligence is dignified, education promoted, commerce invigorated, debt dimin- ished, credit restored, taxation reduced, tranquillity secured, and the blessings of peace and good government provided, and the cry ascends : " Bourbonism in the South!" "Vio- lation of the constitution ! " In 1883 a band of paupers lands at Castle Garden ; they are forthwith recognized as public burdens and sent back to their native lands. The country generally approves. In 1876 a band of defaulters and convicts, who are subsequently found in northern jails, are banished from the Southern States, and the cry is heard : " Social ostracism in the South ! " No doubt Spar- tacus and his fellow gladiators, like the negroes of the South, had abundant cause for complaint, but the Eoman senate was right in repressing their outbreak, and in adopting milder measures for redressing their grievances. The history of the last eight years exhibits the results of the Southern policy. Streams that before listened content- edly to the sound of their own dashings, now flow in tune to the hum of the spindle and the clack of the gin. Cain- hoy and Hamburg have dropped the rifle and the sword and have taken the harrow and the plough. Large appro- priations are made for public education — in Columbia alone twelve hundred children of both races are enrolled in the public schools. High institutions of learning, that the 178 THE SPEAKER. war scythe cut to the ground, are again rising here and there. The capitalist ventures with confidence, and the laborer works with zeal, while the negro sings as he tills his piece of ground or works his evening sum. Do you judge public policy by its results ? Where in history is there a greater change and fairer promise ? Does morality consist in motives ? Let the voice of Southern states- men, the unity of the Southern press, and the contentment of all classes attest the complete satisfaction of the motives that actuated the revolution of '76. Is there an intrinsic standard of judgment ? Then bring back the pauper from Europe ; condemn, with the Southern policy, the general at Vicksburg; condemn Washington with his wooden cannon; condemn Rahab, who concealed the spies, and the judg- ment that rewarded her ; yes, condemn the very hare that instinctively turns upon its track to deceive its bitterest enemy ! But I am not discussing the nature of right and wrong ; I am discussing the fifteenth amendment, and its violation ; for it has been systematically violated, and it is to-day a dead letter in sections of the land. The question is. Shall it remain so, or shall it be again enforced and the terrible experiment repeated ? Its enforcement means the return of negro rule, ignorant legislation, partisan appropriations, the sure revival of the deadliest animosity and race feeling, the paralysis of commerce, the disorganization of society. Can we demand .that the South again pass through the ordeal from which she is just emerging, again prostrate herself at the feet of her former slave and later oppressor, relinquish her fond hopes of tranquillity and good government, all for the preservation of a statute that has worked the ruin of her dearest interests and whose direct violation has been her only means of redress ? No, it cannot be asked ! In the name of our common republican institutions, in the name of the liberties our common forefathers fought for and won, in the name of social development whose first and PKIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 179 greatest law it has violated, in the name of education whosf temple it has destroyed, in the name of morality whosey shrine it has polluted — it must not be asked ! And it will not be asked. Social and religious sympathy, public and private liberality, the realization in the public mind of the dreadful condition, educational or property qualifications, — some or all of these will solve the problem, and the South will be freed from this dilemma, whose alternatives have been servitude with the fifteenth amendment or free- dom without it. EEALITY AND LITERATURE.. Maclean Prize Oration, by C. W. McIlvaine, '85. " Reality' is God's unwritten poem, wliich ... a human genius should write and make intelligible to his less gifted brothers." These words assert that there is a substance beneath the surface of reality, that the actual world is not composed of elements which make up an out- ward and purposeless show ; but of real tilings, which combine with the meaning and the measures of a poem. Everywhere are the lines of this divine poetry. All facts of common experience, all objects in external nature, all thoughts with actual influence, are some hint of its rhythm, some harmony in its rhyme. Genius can read it. But what can make it intelligible to the less gifted ? Can lit- erature ? Ask the critics. There is one group who cry that this is a practical age. Tell them that reality is a poem, and they will laugh you to scorn. People to-day ask for plain, solid facts. Every- thing is material in its ends. Poetry of reality is a contra- diction in terms. Literature is crowded out. If it exists at all, it is a luxury, an elegant pastime. On the other hand, tell that group of critics, who already 180 THE SPEAKER. see the "Literature of Democracy" glimmering in its dawn across our field of letters —tell them that the high- est function of literature is to make known reality, and they will tell you that literature has nothing to do with reality. It lives only in a spiritual atmosphere. It tran- scends reality. What is the touch-stone by which to find the mean be- tween these extreme positions ? Those words of Carlyle which combine the truths of both: "Reality is God's unwritten poem, which ... a human genius should write and make intelligible to his less gifted brothers." When the roar and the bustle of the actual world deaden our senses, we too, of very necessity, cry that this is a practical age. But when come lulls in the noise, we are conscious that our souls, in certain moods, thrill in unison only with something behind the actual. Literature then can peal forth its harmonies, and responsive notes will come echoing back from the chords of men's souls. Car- lyle, therefore, was right to recognize on all sides the star- ing fact of reality, and, at the same time, to affirm the necessary existence of literature. The more practical is the age, the more necessary interpretations of the practical. The connection is vital. One age may have grovelled in realities so slavishly as never to have lifted its eyes to literature. Another may have cultivated literature so blindly as to stumble over realities. For this age it is reserved that in it realities should find their interpretation in literature. Now direct contact with a thing is necessary to its inter- pretation. To interpret life, you must touch the current of life ; to interpret nature, you must go forth into field and forest. But all men are in close contact with the actual world. Why may not each be his own interpreter of it ? Why have recourse to literature ? In reply let us use again the text of our touch-stone : " Eeality is God's un- written poem." Mere contact alone cannot arouse sym- PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 181 pathy in the mind of man with the inner nature of reality ; for it requires a poet to tell a poem. One after another may look idly at some stream on the hillside. To them it may never appear anything more than simply a stream, laughing and dashing its way down the slope. Perhaps but one may realize the power in the running waters ; but one reveal its presence by the motion of the mill-wheel. All saw the stream ; one saw into it. So a genius places his wheel of discernment athwart the stream of realities, and in literature reveals their essential elements to all men. Yielding to his insight, things throw off their out- ward garb, which constitutes the mere external world, and stand revealed in their true characters, which unite to form the harmony of the great reality-poem. Then the wort of interpretation is done. How is it done ? If you look at mountains rising in the distance, you see a hazy, blue outline reaching across the horizon. Verdure stretching up the wooded slopes, rocks rising into bold peaks, brooks parting the ridges, — all with which nature furrows or brightens the mountain-face — fade in the distance, and are transfigured into the hazy blue. You see the mountain simply as it is, in its essen- tial qualities, size and substance. So a genius in literature looks upon any subject round which plays the current of his thoughts. Just as with actual gaze we see the blue outline of the mountains, so with spiritual vision he dis- cerns the essence of things. He idealizes them. For what is an ideal ? An artist in painting Cleopatra, for example, cannot cause every shade of her character to trace its pres- ence before the eye. His portrait is but the actual counter- part of the ideal image of her in his mind. He thinks of her, and portrays her simply in her leading characteristics, as fierce, tender, fascinating, terrible. An ideal, in short, is the abstraction of the essential qualities of a thing. It is not necessarily something exalted, something to which we must look as always on a still higher plane. For this 182 THE SPEAKBK. ordinary conception arises from the fact that to form an ideal of an object, to strip it of its minor, and to look simply at its essential qualities, is the same thing as to raise the object on a plane so high that only its essential qualities can be discerned and its minor appear to be stripped off. Ideals, then, are not to be found only on the high levels of poetry and morality ; for every man who has seized upon the essence of a thing, has thereby formed an ideal of it. Now a genius thus idealizes reality. He pierces to its core. But how does he communicate his ideal ? Means are at hand. For if all men, by direct contact, have a knowledge of the external shell of reality, genius can develop it into a conception of the kernel. Men must know the surface before they can fathom the depths. We have had occasion to refer to certain critics who declared that an age of reality would stifle the very spirit of litera- ture. Yet literature, in its high sphere of interpretation, cannot live except in an age of reality. For it is by virtue of the very knowledge of actual things, which men gain in a practical age, that genius can communicate their meaning. The brightest beam of light directed through a vacuum fails to illuminate it. The space must contain dust, or vapor, or matter in some form to arrest and make visible the light. So were the mind of a man absolutely void of all ideas, no intensest light of genius could convey to it one gleam of intelligence. But if stray thoughts, like merest particles of dust — and worthless, perhaps, as the dust — wander through the mind, they may gain value and grow bright with something of the brilliancy of genius. Or if some fleeting fancy, like a vapor, hover before the mental vision, genius can make it iridescent with the many hues of the imagination. Or even if some vague conception, like insubstantial smoke, cloud the memory, genius can pierce it with the rays of its intelligence. In short, men must have sight before they can gain from PRIZE OKATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 183 genius insight ; they must have ideas before they can gain ideals. What is the significance of this truth ? In whatever sphere, social, scientific, moral, men touch the current of realities, genius, through literature, can interpret them. I care not whether literature finds order and causation in social phenomena, and we call it history ; or whether it searches for the explanation of things, and we call it science ; or whether it seeks to utter the eternal harmonies, and we call it poetry ; whatever be its proper sphere, it must put men in possession of the essence of things before it will be recognized as literature to-day — before that ring- ing phrase, " Literature of Democracy," will be realized. NATURAL TRANSCENDENTALISM IN LITERATURE. Baikd Prize Oration, by Chas. F. McClumpha, '85. LiTEKATURE has a soul as well as a body, and that soul has ever been transcendental ; at first, a transcendentalism calm, marking the advancement and deliverance of the spirit of man ; then, a transcendentalism militant and dis- trustful of the progress of science ; and finally, as in the transcendental movements of the literature of the nine- teenth century, manifesting a sympathy with external nature. Of all the struggles that literature has ever experi- enced for the preservation of its soul, that against the materialism of the eighteenth century was the severest ; all Europe was its theatre, Germany its battle-field. The voice of Immanuel Kant heralded a philosophy of idealism, declaring that the external world, its phenomena, its his- tory, do not depend upon the experience ; that mind, its speculations, aspirations, and dreams, are not to be mocked as fine-spun myths. Hence to the transcendentalist matter exists in appear- 184 THE SPEAKER. ances which depend on the relation between it and mind, while mind itself is the only reality. To him, " thought is the universe, his experience the procession of facts you call the world, flowing perpetually outward from an invisi- ble, unsounded centre in himself." Thus it is that material particles can be transferred into intimate relationship with the soul, that imagination can bridge the gulf between inner self and outer world, between the subtlest thought and the dancing atom of yon sunbeam. Could gross mate- rialism give nobler scope than this to scientific progress ? Grand, indeed, is the contemplation of the dust of stars, of the vibration of nerves, of the yellow globules flitting from pine to pine, of the cellular tissue of the tiniest moss con- verting the weathered rock into a garden of richest verdure and fruits, but how pre-eminently impressive the imagi- native faith that would link your soul to this mass of crea- tion, now floating on the calm air, and the next instant spinning, glimmering, and disappearing on the edge of a chasm of immensity and darkness. Thought, therefore, becomes the mould in which to shape a world ; it places in the hand of man the whole power of world-creation and renders simple enough the explanation of its heroes and sages. The mind becomes a stringed instrument whose soft harmonies may float on and on over a troubled sea, smoothing each storm-tossed wave, or whose discordant notes may restore a chaos. The pages of poetry, for poetry is the interpreter of the soul of literature, have often been painted in dark and mystic colors of doubt and unrest. Shelley cast the gloom of his cold reason over the universe and sung of the " forces of nature " which transformed him into a " kinsman of the wind and of the fire." A modern poet, draining the dregs of pessimism, cries : — " Let lis be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, PRIZE ORATIONS OP PRINCETON COLLEGE. 185 Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight. Where ignorant armies clash by night." George Eliot has clothed in awful words the necessity of self-renunciation. From " Middlemarch " to " Daniel De- ronda " a terrible fatalism overhangs man, and Duty be- comes the burden of life. Philosophical speculations have been woven in the brain-loom of man, but life yet remains the problematic, the elusive. A poet, while gazing at the snow-capped summit of Mont Blanc, dared to say, " There is DO God ; " a philosopher, looking into the depths of a dewdrop, exclaimed, " God is there." The present is, therefore, a time of disbelief and darkness. " In the second part of Goethe's Faust there is a grand and striking scene when the mocking Mephistopheles sits down between the solemn, antique sphinxes, and boldly questions them, and reads their riddles. On either side are beheld the gigantic forms of the children of Chimsera gazing fix- edly, as if they heard through the midnight the swift-rush- ing wings of the Stymphalides. Even so does a scof&ng and unbelieving Present sit down between an unknown Future and a too-believing Past, and question the gigantic forms of Faith, half-buried in the sands of time." It is not strange that these doleful and uncertain soul-questionings — unsatis- fied with one phase of life, unanswered by the researches of science and self-examination — should revert to a higher faith, divine, rather than human, spiritual rather than mate- rial ; that the literature of passion, of despair, of low utilita- rianism, should become the literature of transcendentalism. To the transcendentalist the earth is no longer the prison- house of the soul ; the gold and crimson of each evening's sunset no longer the radiance from a divinity dwelling apart on some snowy Olympus ; the mystic breath of early spring, no longer mere atoms of air, uttering meaningless 186 THE SPEAKER. cadences ; matter is no longer the bar to keep heaven-born children from their heritage ; in fine, the Divine Being is not without and above us, but within and about us, breath- ing His presence through the frame of the universe. Pass from the marts of men, from the bustle of traffic, from the dust of action ; forget, for a moment, that men are obliged to plan and labor in order to accommodate themselves to their environments and cling to the thread of life ; enter the temple of science, with its spanning arches and massive buttresses chiselled with the most graceful workmanship of human art; behold, before its altar of investigation, priests, bearing the microscope and scalpel, chanting hymns to Protoplasm, and kneeling before the great god Evolution. Yet even here, on the very threshold of revelation, the spirit of man offers futile prayers, and learns that the ex- ternal world cannot be dissected or dissolved. Transcendentalism has aimed to ignore the Malthusian theory, to shrink from the cellular explanation of matter, to despise the world-packing, frosty crystallizations of philos- ophy. It lias caught the human race blowing bubbles, eat- ing fungi, playing with the chance cards of politics and religion ; and to what purpose ? The suns and storms of Time have levelled the Parthenons and whitened the bones of Roman armies. The thoughts of moral beings are reflections of that divine harmony present in all natural phenomena. The neutral- tinted sky, the laughing mountain brook, the moaning of the forest pines, the perfume clouds floating from nodding flowers, all have their counterparts in the brightest hopes and the saddest sorrows of the human spirit. Emerson says, " Give me health and a day, and I will make the pomp of emperors ridiculous. The dawn is my Assyria ; the sun- set and moonrise my Paphos ; broad noon shall be my England of the senses and the understanding; the night shall be my Germany of mystic philosophy and dreams." Here the garment of Divinity is used to clothe the PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 187 universe, the obscure path of life becomes an aisle in the temple of God. Nature is made the book of life, whose alphabet we can scarcely comprehend, written, as it is, in celestial hieroglyphs, solar systems, and electric phenomena. Against these strongholds of faith, billow after billow of scepticism and utilitarianism has been dashing. Men analyze their feelings, and weep to find that the heart is a mere handful of dust. They would weigh their duties in balances, they would call truth expediency, they would term inspiration action, they would preach to the multitude the gospel of gold, but, through transcendentalism, life-action has been spiritualized, transfigured, and clothed in " beauti- ful vague dreams of the real and ideal," living in this green world like the mountain lake which bears upon its bosom the reflection of the blue sky and the mountains overhead. PUEITANISM IN LITERATURE. Maclean Pbizb Oration, by Maeion M. Millbb, '86. The beauty of form and color, the " world of sense " in English literature, has ever been Pagan. The highest beauty of spirit, the "world of mind " in it, has ever been Christian ; and the form of Christianity which has most affected our literature is Puritanism. The first distinctive period in English letters was what Taine has called the Pagan Renaissance. England was then in its young manhood. The nation itself was a living example of the " Lusty Juventus " — thoughtless and pleasure-loving youth — of its Morality Plays. Chivalry was in its bloom. Its stern vows and fasts and hard ser- vice alone had passed away, its romantic splendors and gayeties still survived. In their love of life and form and color, men instinctively shrank from the dogmas of the 188 THE SPEAKER. School-men to whom all these delights were either an ab- horrence or the allurements of the Evil One. Their joyous Aryan blood, bounding in harmony with the pulsations of every form of life around them, brought their affections back to the ancient Pagan worship of Nature, and so to Greece and Rome the poets went for their models. But this Pagan literature, this fair exotic brought from classic skies, had no firm root in English soil. Though it spread so rapidly and flourished so thriftily, it soon would have withered away, " because it had no depth of earth," had not the sturdy English traits of earnestness and moral purpose been ingrafted into it. These qualities were given it by Puritanism ; not the Puritanism of the sad-colored garb and nasal cant as we are so apt to imagine, but the earlier Puritanism of Elizabethan culture and courtliness. It is not Praise-God Barebones, but Spenser, chivalrous, imaginative Spenser, who is the representative Puritan. As Christianity slowly worked its way into the hearts of our heathen ancestors, so did Puritanism, through Spenser, steal into our Pagan literature. The early missionaries of the Church, instead of enraging the heathen by tearing away all their beautiful forms of worship and stamping out ancient customs and ceremonies, won their sympathies by preserving aught in the old faith that was beautified by tradition or sanctified by remembrance. These forms they incorporated into the Christian religion, giving them new meanings and infusing into them a new spirit. They can- onized their Pagan heroes, they christened their heathen holy places. Easter and Yule-tide and Sunday remained the same in name, in spirit they were wholly Christian. Bale-fires were still allowed to gleam in the summer even- ings upon the hills and high places of the land, yet the youths, as they leaped in sport through the quivering flames, thought no longer of "passing through the fire to Baal," but rejoiced in the religion that permitted them the innocent revelry of the Eve of St. John. Thus the Church fRIZE ORATIONS OP PEINCBTON COLLEGE. 189 worshipped, with the spirit of Christianity, in the temple of Paganism. In the same way our Pagan literature, descended from noble Greek through lascivious Italian, was gradually Christianized by Spenser, the first great missionary of Puritanism. He was peculiarly fitted for this work. His poetic temperament alone would have made him the first of the poets of the Renaissance ; his lovable Christian character has rendered him the delight of a nation, the third star in its poetic firmament. He outdid Petrarch in polish of versification, yet his beautiful stanza sets forth as orthodox a belief as the " Institutes " of Calvin. Loyal as the other poets to Elizabeth the Queen, he transcends them all in the depth of his love for Elizabeth his wife. So Spenser, the truest of Pagans and noblest of Puritans, may truly be called the St. Paul of literature, the first apostle of " high seriousness " in English poetry. " All things to all men," he was the very one to win over the nation, by the perfection of sensuous beauty, to a love of that spiritual beauty which should underlie and transfigure all. He destroyed not the classic goddesses ; under the magic of his touch, they became radiant with the halo of the Christian graces. The Muses still sang of Love and Valor and Earthly Beauty, yet intermingled with it all we hear the hymns of Heavenlj' Love and Truth. The same Puritanism which, through Spenser, has given to English poetry its spirituality, imbued, through Shake- speare, English drama with high moral purpose. All the mighty powers of that master mind, which, in his early poems, seemed about to cast their weight on the side of licentiousness, were diverted, undoubtedly by Puritan influ- ence, to the cause of morality, and the drama was saved. Then as corruption grew into the Church from the com- promise of Pagan form and Christian spirit, as the tares of ancient heathenism, lying dormant so long, sprang up to choke out the good seed of true religion, so did the Pagan 190 THE SPEAKEK. element in our literature debase and destroy tlie Puritan. The fervent and natural imagery of the Elizabethan poets degenerated into the far-fetched analogies and uncouth con- ceits of the so-called Metaphysical School. As Taine says : " With Carew, Suckling, and Herrick, prettiness takes the place of the beautiful," and " side by side with prettiness comes affectation; it is the second mark of decadence." The remedy for these evils lay in literature itself. As the church was reformed by the northern earnestness which in its early days it had incorporated from the Teutonic heathen, so was our English literature to be purified by the revival of its ancient Saxon spirit of Truth. This showed itself, in its severest form, in the Puritanism of the second period, the Puritanism of Cromwell and his Ironsides. As in the strong arm and firm strokes with which Luther nailed his theses to the church door we see the spirit of old Thor, and hear the ringing of his hammer, Miolner the Mighty, so in those stern reformers whose surgery cut to the bone of our decaying literature, we see the earnestness of their Saxon ancestors, the spirit of King Alfred the Truth-teller, come to life again. Of these reformers, the firmest, yet tenderest, was Milton. Like Spenser, both classic and Christian, both Pagan and Puritan, he was greater than Spenser in that he drew his classic inspiration directly from the Greek tragedians instead of through Italian romanticists, and greater, furthermore, in that his Puritanism was tempered in the white heat of civil debate and war. Literature would have derived untold benefits had the "organ voice of England" given to it only Paradise Lost, and who can reckon its added debts to those prose pamphlets, wherein, like trumpet tones, Milton champions the cause of civil, domestic, and religious liberty ? Then came Bunyan, sturdiest Puritan of' them all! Almost Hebraic in his sublime simplicity, he has taught Hellenic culture the great lesson that, no matter how sim- PEIZB ORATIONS OP PRINCETON COLLEGE. 191 ply arrayed, Truth is ever beautiful, ay, and often the grander for very lack of ornament. With such a belief as they possessed, men of Bunyan's stamp could not help ris- ing to heroic greatness. So terribly in earnest about life and death and their souls' salvation, they have infused into our language and literature such a spirit of seriousness as, please God, shall never die. The lineal descendant of Bunyan's faith is modern devo- tion to principle, and Carlyle sounds its watch-word in his sentence — " Truth is our divinity." This is the Puritanism which must form the basis of our American literature. It is devotion to moral principles that has made us a great nation ; that has destroyed slavery ; and that is, perhaps with wrong methods, but certainly with earnest intentions, striving to root out the evil of intoxica- tion from our midst. These great questions have made in the past, and cannot help creating in the future, a vigorous American literature. Speaking of the late Eebellion, Colonel Higginson says : " As ' the Puritan has triumphed ' in this stern contest, so must the Puritan triumph in the more graceful emulations that are to come, but it must be the Puritanism of Milton, not of Cromwell only. The invigorating air of great moral principles must breathe through all our literature. It is the expanding spirit of the seventeenth century by which we must conquer now." Well does the same author answer Matthew Arnold's criticism that " the Puritan spirit in America was essentially hostile to literature and art," by saying : " The Puritan life was only historically inconsistent with culture ; there was no logical antagonism. Indeed, that life had in it much that was congenial to art in its enthusiasm and its truthfulness. Take these Puritan traits and employ them in a more genial sphere ; add intellectual training and sunny faith, and you have a soil suited to art above all others." 192 THE SPEAKER. This Puritanism is our defence against the schools of Arnold and Swinburne, the classic and the sensuous Pagans of the nineteenth century. If they speak of the delights of material beauty, we can turn to Spenser and his praises of the inner and spiritual. If they boast of their unbounded license, we can glory in the liberty of Milton, harmonious alike with God's laws and man's. If they tempt us to waste our lives in laughter and song, we can listen to Carlyle, thundering the warning of Scripture, " Know thou that for all these things, God will bring thee unto judgment ! " And if they say, " Come with us, away from the common herd, out of this age of strife, back into the glorious days of old, to Grecian beauty of style and sweep of soul," we can reply, " Bunyan's style is good enough for us, and we will cast our lot witli his readers, — with the plain, blunt men for whom the truest and most lovable orators and poets have ever spoken and sung. We will take Lincoln and Lowell and Whittier, and you may have Kossetti and Wilde and Whitman. AVhen in fixture ages corruption shall have seized your fleshly beauty, and your sensuousness shall seem as loathsome to men as the licentiousness of the Restoration is to us, then shall the people remember, as they remember the incorruptible virtues of departed friends, the graces of spirituality, of earnestness, of liberty, of simplicity, and of moral purpose, the gifts which Puritanism has given to literature." CULTURE AND CONSERVATISM. Baikd Pkizb Obation, by Gbo. T. Eddy, '86. This is an age of universal questioning. In nature, ani- mate and inanimate, and in the sphere of human activity as well, men are seeking causes, reasons, and laws. All things are under challenge to give account of themselves. Suspicion is prevalent ; doubt as to the reality of things, PRIZK OEATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 193 the existence of mind, the possibility of knowledge. Mod- ern criticism finds no holy ground, nothing too sacred for its closest scrutiny. It need occasion no surprise, then, that culture is forced to assume the attitude of defence. Men of fame and influence are its strenuous assailants. They allege that it fetters progress with the weight of antiquity; they term it "a safe and elegant imbecility," which is only too glad to avoid exposure by seclusion from the world. They say that, wrapped in the mantle of self- complacent pride, it averts the glance from the unpleasant spectacle of humanity belonging to an alien class forsaken and in anguish. If this be the real outcome of our culture, judgment against it cannot be too swift or too severe. What answer do its advocates make to the accusation ? What do they claim as its characteristics and results ? First, it aims at a symmetrical and continuous development of all man's powers, moral as well as intellectual. It is eager for all knowledge, but values chiefly that which relates to human thought and endeavor. Information, it holds, to avail, must be crystallized into wisdom. It loves and cherishes in everything, the true, the beautiful, and the good. Again, culture at least claims to be altruistic. In the words of Matthew Arnold, it is " possessed by a passion for doing good." The truths to which it attains, universal as they are in their application and value, must be pro- claimed as far as possible to every individual, be he lowly or exalted. The cloistered monk is no longer the ideal scholar. That ideal finds its true expression in him who seeks the highest discipline and enlightenment, to the end that, in imitation of his Master, he may give sustenance and sympathy to some hungry, despairing soul. But the main point at issue is still untouched ; the ques- tion recurs : Is not culture conservative in its tendency ? And the answer must be — Yes ; but only in the highest sense of the term. To be stupidly tenacious of whatever 194 THE SPEAKER. is old, to oppose every innovation, to prefer ease to prog- ress, this is not true conservatism. That consists, says one of America's foremost scholars, in "holding together the things of the past which the experience of the ages has proved to be worth conserving. It discriminates between the permanent and the transient in human history, traces through the centuries the line of progress, and rejoices in every step that is forward toward the goal." There are two ways in which this conservatism finds expression. Truths that have been discovered are funda- mental and necessary to those that shall be discovered. Cut off the scientists, the philosophers, from all connection with the past and obligation to it, and they are involved in a maze of doubt and perplexity. Their largest, if not their only, task is to secure deductions from the facts, to com- bine into orderly structures the materials which others have gathered for them long before. But if it were possible, the student is more indebted to his intellectual ancestors for their methods than for their direct attainments. It is his privilege and delight to join the hallowed company of t"he sages and philosophers, the prophets and poets of all ages and all climes, to listen to their admonitions for his guidance . in the pursuit of knowledge, to follow out the course in which they were striving. They esteemed Truth above all else beside, ever sought it in nature and man, ever worshipped it in G-od. If their example and counsels be obeyed, the onward move- ment of mankind, far from being impeded, will take on a fuller volume and a stronger sweep. The value of conservative culture is especially manifest in the spheres of philosophical and moral thought, and of national and individual life. With what computations will the science of sciences estimate its indebtedness to Socrates and Plato ? Who shall weigh the influence of Aristotle and Bacon ? The great truths they discovered sway with immortal potency the minds of thoughtful men ; even PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 195 their errors serve to point out the right way more clearly. Time is the test of philosophy. Only the precious metal of thought retains through the ages an undimmed lustre. But, on the other hand, we shall find that the battles waging now were as stubbornly contested centuries ago. The most subtle and dangerous of modern errors was anciently met and overthrown only to reappear in a sort of resurrection of evil. Yet there is no occasion for dis- may. The past assures us that the outcome shall again be a triumph for truth. But even if history afforded us no clew as to the value and permanence of systems of thought, the scholar, with powers so quickened by companionship with regal minds, can weigh their claims in scales of cer- tainty. Wisdom imparts insight, gives power to discrimi- nate between the genuine and the false, and to gauge with exactness the relative values of theories. Again, in political science and the conduct of state affairs, this conservative force finds a wide field of opera- tion. The scholar is a good citizen in that he obeys the law ; but pre-eminently so in that he can and does speak with authority on measures and systems of government. He who saw that the " foundation of political theory was on the broad base of historical observation," was the architect of the modern science. From this historical observation there springs not only a thorough knowledge of the present, but a prescience of the future. The expe- rience of all time teaches the student that the two ways lie open for men and nations also ; that the wrong choice in the case of both alike leads certainly to destruction. How carefully, then, will he study the causes of political disas- ter, and lay bare to the most stringent tests the ultimate principles of action. But culture also finds in all govern- ments a dominant idea, an underlying tendency, which, like the movement of a glacier, is unnoticed but irresisti- ble. It declares that no policy or measure can be efiBca- cious or permanent unless it is in line with this dominant 196 THE SPEAKER. idea. In view of the extreme complexity of national exist- ence, the widest experience and the profoundest insight are imperative requisites to those who would guide and guard the State. It is no time for the demagogue, the political sciolist and charlatan. Only the scholar can adequately cope with the gigantic problems that menace the very existence of society. "Knowledge and wisdom shall be the stability of thy times." Such is the influence of conservative scholarship upon systems of thought and forms of government. Its bearing on the intellectual life of others is no less important. It inculcates, as opposed to the raw conceit and self-sufficiency of radicalism, humility of intellect and reverence for right- ful authority. It delights to pay fealty to "The dead But sceptered sov'rans who still rule Our spirits from their urns." Nay, it does more ; in the midst of the jostling throng of those who strive for mastery in wealth, or social station, or fame, or power, the conservative scholar, inspired with hope from the past, points calmly to that ideal to which we may ever closer and closer approximate, but may never attain — the ideal of perfection. " human soul ! so long as thou canst so Set up a mark of everlasting light, Above the howling senses' ebb and flow, To cheer thee and to right thee if thou roam ; Not with lost toil thou laborest through the night ! Thou makest the heaven, thou hop'st, indeed, thy home." PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 197 THE PHILOSOPHIC BASIS OP THE PEENCH REVOLUTION. Maclean Pkize Okation, by K. B. C. Johnson, '87. Nature's forms of expression are dual. Heat and cold, sunlight and shadow, cause and effect, volition and action, life and death, are all forms of this one principle. The law of compensation works, calm and unseen, like the mighty powers of nature ; it speaks in the sphere of morals ; it governs the physical universe ; it formulates the laws of nations and decides their histories. This is the principle by which we should estimate Prench political philosophy of the eighteenth century. The period directly preceding the Revolution was for Prance an era of strange and distracting events ; it was an era of rationalism ; of a people divided into two great social factions, the one the apostles of an atheistic philos- ophy, living in an ideal sphere of theory and abstraction, the other a mass of helpless misery, living in a real world of confused and discordant elements. The Revolution itself was the most momentous event of the eighteenth century. Nothing of as grave import had occurred since the mighty struggles of the Reformation as " When France in wratli her giant limbs upreared, And with that oath which smote earth,, air, and sea, Stamped her strong foot, and said she would be free." It was a revolution expressing in frantic outburst the sentiments of a people resolved to strike off the fetters of feudalism ; it was a revolution against a society whose hollow forms were more than mockery to starving millions ; it was a revolution charged with the evolution of social ideals — a revolution acknowledged to have been the nat- ural sequence of speculative thought, of destructive and constructive literature. 198 THE SPEAKER. The spirit of the movement was the effacing of supersti- tion, the abolition of absolutism, the establishment of society on more of a basis of equality. But pliilosophism, with its gilded fallacies, now comes to herald the dawn of a brighter era; it tells a people, already dissatisfied with tradition and the bequeathed wisdom of the ages, that hope of the future is conditioned on forgetfulness of the past. This erratic conclusion lay at the root of civil sentiment; touched the essence, not simply the accidents, of society; sanctioned social dissolution, and animated the stream of popular discontent which was to flow on and on until its waters were crimsoned with the blood of demagogism and choked with the excesses of a Keign of Terror. The con- dition of France in the eighteenth century was simply deplorable. The army of hunger marshals twenty-five millions ; monarchy is a synonym for tyranny ; the crown, the church, nobles and peasantry, all have taken up the arms of dissension ; the church is a nest of corruption, the social organism in its death throes, Christianity swallowed up in the vortex of atheism ; public service a chaos ; sen- sualism clothes its crimes in the vestments of political philosophy; and, to crown all, gross materialism is at its zenith. These are all causes connected with the Eeign of Terror and subsequent political unrest. By logical method, we eliminate the minor causes, and find one of the dominating causes to be a destructive, critical, and sceptical literature — a subversive political philosophy. For, whether the writers caught the inspiration which directed their genius from profound meditation on abstract truth or from the moving spirit of the age, it still remains that the prin- ciples established became the justification of measures which made the Kevolutiou a synonym for all that is cruel and bloody. The dominant philosophic tone is best seen in the writings of typical authors. Helvetius tells us that man is possessed of the same two PRIZE ORATIONS OF PEINCETON COLLEGE. 199 fundamental faculties as beasts — memory and sensation ; that his superiority arises from his external form ; that vir- tue and duty must be viewed only in connection with our physical sensibilities. The logical conclusion is, that a man is virtuous or the opposite, according to the nature of his environments. If, then, a people's political institutions are not for them the most desirable, revolution is justifi- able. Also, according to this false code of morals projected by Helvetius, virtue is made to consist in physical enjoy- ment. Here we have the justification of sensualism. Hence- forth vice is decreed a virtue ; atheism becomes rampant ; the more sublime faculties are lost sight of before the animal ; freedom degenerates into the wildest license ; sen- sualism revels in its three thousand cesspools of vice and shame ; the passions become the dominating principles of human life. The radical error, therefore, in Helvetius' idea of man is, as Morley says, that he considers him as " a singular piece of mechanism, principally moved from with- out, and not as a conscious organism reacting with a life of its own from within." To supplement the follies of Helvetius came the treatise of Condillac. Ignoring the higher ideas of justice and moral good, and viewing all our knowledge as the result of contact with the outer world, he argues that nature is the source of everything that makes us what we are. Under this aspect, worship of nature is instituted with pomp and ceremony ; discoveries and inventions spring from fertile minds ,and science marches on with mighty strides. But the teaching of Condillac, pushed to its ultimate conse- quences, means more — it means that we are to obey the feelings instigated by our physical nature. His doctrine, therefore, teaches, in its ultimate consequences, that virtue and religion may consist in unblushing immorality. And between the sanctioned vice of Condillac and the modification of his system in Rousseau, stands the naked blasphemy of Voltaire. Nothing escapes his satire. Every- 200 THE SPEAKER. thing that the ages had made venerable, everything that religion had constituted sacred, is turned to unutterable ridicule by pungent wit and blighting scorn. Intrepid, brilliant, humanistic, he is yet the arch-representative of the worst type of scoffing blasphemy. So far, the aim of the literature has been the justification of revolutionary measures. Rousseau goes further. Argu- ing that revolution is justifiable, he then proceeds to show that for everything to be abolished something better may be substituted. Powerful as a thinker, he formulates theories with all the exactness of logical precision ; skilful in turning periods, he writes and Paris is fascinated ; he advances theories of legislation and the French nation watches for the dawn of a Utopian freedom. He tells them that "No individual, nor yet the whole multitude which constitutes the state, can possess the right of com- pelling any man to do anything of which it has' not been demonstrated that his own will must join in prescribing it." Such a sentiment is opposed to the most essential principles of the social system ; it would substitute license for law, corruption for public purity, and harmony and order would yield to the wild reign of confusion and anarchy. This principle, therefore, which he tries to establish as fundamental, and which may be taken as a typical example of the erratic side of his system, is equally destructive to all government and society. For, since a man may will at one time what he may reject at another, government and society would be in a continual ferment of change and instability. A coloring of sentimentalism tinges his er- ratic conclusions ; he judges on literary principles, views society in the abstract, and discards all those phenomena that accompany it as an organism. But to study French politics of the eighteenth century apart from Rousseau, is like studying effect apart from the cause in which it pre- exists. Do patriots wonder at the hoodwinked enthusiasm PRIZE OKATION8 OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 201 of the Jacobin Club ? Let them see in it the philosophy of Eousseau. Do men call Eobespierre a fanatic because he sacrificed hundreds to the triumph of an idea ? Let them remember that he drew his inspiration from Rous- seau. Does religion weep over the excesses of the Reign of Terror ? Let it console itself by remembering that the literary Utopias of Rousseau were a cause as dominating as were the corruptions of the church. But whether the literature of the age was the product of sincerity or not, it still remains that the liberty advo- cated becomes debasing servitude ; that Terror becomes the watchword of the day; that hundreds perish daily at the click of the guillotine ; that queenly beauty and kingly rank, youthful innocence and sweetest eloquence, become the victims of heartless demagogism ; that churches are plundered ; legislation is unsettled ; an enthroned harlot is worshipped as the Goddess of Reason ; suspicion lurks in every heart ; traitors arm themselves to leave their dens only in the blackness of night ; justice seems obsolete ; crime passes unnoticed ; the highest law comes to mean the will of fanatics struggling after ends that are vague and speculative, and political philosophy is made the justifica- tion of atrocities that stand almost unparalleled in the annals of moral turpitude. And never again, through the long line of the centuries, may truth be forsaken for hypothesis ; never again may so deadly a potion be presented in the golden chalice of phi- losophy, and the skies of a false hope be tinted with twi- light and dawn. 202 THE SPEAKER. THE UNDERLYING PRINCIPLE OF HUMAN PROGRESS. Baird Pbize Okatxon, by R. W. Mason, '87. In all departments of human investigation there is con- tinual progress — in science, in philosophy, in the arts, and in the spread of broader principles of individual liberty. Nature has not changed in her masses or powers. The winds and waves beat as furiously upon Scylla and Charyb- dis as in the days of Homer, but now " the steamboat against the wind and tide steadies with upright keel." Neither have the mountains decreased in size, but to-day man is carried over them on highways of steel. His brain has snatched the very lightning from heaven and made it do his bidding. And again, thrones and institutions which relied upon the sanction of the centuries for their contin- ued authority, have gone down before the onward march of civilization. Everywhere humanity is discarding the things of the past and pressing onward to those which are before. The very law of man's being is to advance. His prog- ress depends, not so much upon the world without, as upon the unfolding of the world within. The real history of man is not that of his thought or his inventions, but that of his spiritual life. This growth of truth in the soul, this perpetual struggle between the life that is and that which reason and conscience declare ought to be, creates ah "antagonism between the true and the perfect on one side, and the false and the imperfect on the other," and lies at the root of every step in human progress. Slow and painful have these steps been. It seems that in the economy of this world no great truth is born into it without travail. The book of Copernicus, revealing the true order of the universe, is silenced by a Papal Bull. Galileo, declaring the annual and diurnal motions of the PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 203 earth contrary to the teachings of the church, is thrust into prison. Socrates, who doubted the popular belief in the gods, but preached a righteousness and faith like that of inspiration, is accused of heresy and sentenced to drink the poisoned cup. Yet humanity has been ever advancing, keeping step with its grand army of martyrs. The silent and almost irresistible growth of truth in the human soul bursts the bonds of ignorance and superstition, awakens higher conceptions of the dignity of manhood, gives a faith in things unseen and eternal, and brings light and liberty to the children of men. Many have been the attempts to crush truth out of the human heart. For instance, if the teachings of any estab- lished church are not based upon the eternities, sooner or later it comes into collision with the nobler nature of man, pressing onward to higher planes of religious truth in obe- dience to his conscience. Then conflicts ensue — conflicts often the most foul that have ever stained the pages of his- tory ; conflicts which have degraded the human mind by dragging it down to the most debasing forms of cruelty ; conflicts which have filled the world with worse than blood, and have almost made hate the first law of nations. But the day invariably goes against those who would repress the upward tendencies of the human soul. For, wherever there are hoUowness and insincerity, wherever there are tyr- anny and falsehood, there is decay ; there are the shadows of death. Men have burned, they have massacred, but they have never choked the true voice out of man. Hu- manity, rising in all its dignity, has asserted that between truth and falsehood' there is an eternal distinction : the one is to be forever loved, the other to be forever hated. And acting upon this conviction, man has looked persecution in the face, conscious that every fallacy discarded is ah emancipation ; conscious that every superstition abandoned is a " redemption from captivity " ; conscious that to fly from darkness and credulity, cost what it may, is to fly to the bosom of God. 204 THE SPEAKER. The tendency, therefore, of man is always towards the realization of higher ideals. But history teaches that all great advances in human progress are developed, like other natural beginnings, from inward germs. The truth that government should be determined by the whole people, and not by the few, had been planted in the hearts of humanity for ages before it blossomed into the American Declaration of Independence. How long was the night before the world awakened to the realization that only through the moral and intellectual culture of all classes could it safely advance, and that to accomplish this was the highest func- tion of government ! How long was the air heavy with injustice, while the spirit of manhood was chained, scourged, and trampled upon by crowned force ! The toiling millions sowed, but they reaped not. They defended with their own blood those whom they called masters, but for themselves there seemed to be no defender — • nothing but the blackness of slavery and injustice ; nothing but a fear and ignorance which stifled thought, petrified the soul and held it in bond- age. But man was made to be exalted. There is a Power within him, but not of him, that works for righteousness. That Power was manifested in the fall of Constantinople, which broke up the stagnation of human thought by bring- ing Greek culture to the very doors of Europe. And then, when men's minds were thus aroused, that Power was mani- fested in awakening the human soul to a sense of its personal responsibility to a personal God, ushering in a reformation which has filled the world with liberty and enlightenment, and has changed the whole gulf-current of human history. That Power was manifested even in the French Kevolution, by using it to break forever the spell of feudal tyranny and to make a return to the dark ages forever an impossibility. Finallj-, that Power was manifested in our American forefathers, when, standing up in the strength of their manhood, with centuries of human struggles 'for human PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 205 rights behind them, they declared that all men were created equal ; that, since the gifts of mind and heart are bestowed upon all, and since the-sentiment of truth and justice dwells in every breast, man was not a mere machine created to minister to government, but that governments were created to minister to man. And, catching new inspirations at every step, they discarded the prejudices of the heartless past, and founded a government upon the unlimited suffrage of the millions. The Declaration of Independence elevated the common life, not only of our own nation, but of other nations, by giving to the individual a larger and richer environment of laws and of institutions. Yes, man, sinful, fallen man, was born to be exalted. Made in the image of God ! We do not fully understand what this means. It is one of those great thoughts of the Infinite which are beyond the grasp of our limited knowl- edge. But sometimes, in the hush of our own lives, it flashes across our minds that to grow into this image is the object and interpretation of all our yearnings and struggles after a higher life, and is, moreover, the reason why our souls are satisfied with nothing less than absolute and final truth. To us this is the principle underlying all human progress ; this, the philosophy of life. THE EISE AND INFLUENCE OF STOICISM. Maclean Pkize Obation, by W. A. Wyckoff, '88. It is known in the streets of Athens that news has come from Eubcea. An expectant silence falls upon the city, and eager eyes scan eager faces. Soon the rumor fl.ies from mouth to mouth that Aristotle is no more. Men bow their heads in sadness, and ask themselves " And what of Greek Philosophy now ? " Their question meets no answer, and soon the gay life of genial Athens moves on, and few would dream of a wound who judge from her fair exterior. 206 THE SPEAKER. Not, however, to her intellectual life does the old free spirit return. The " Father of Greek Philosophy " is dead ; and as in him the older systems had found their highest expression, so now they had met their end. The old think- ers had been carried out of themselves in dealing with great ideas. The objective world of thought and life had absorbed their minds ; and, now that speculative philosophy had reached its culminatiou, their successors are rudely thrust back upon themselves, and stand upon the threshold of the subjective consciousness without a leader, bewildered by the mysteries of the new world which opened before them. Dark as was this hour for Greek Philosophy, it proved but the gathering darkness before a dawn. Hitherto, although it contained within itself " a gradual progress and culmination of thought,'' the great thinkers who were the authors of this progress lived and spoke and thought in a level far above the ordinary comprehension. Now Phi- losophy ceased to be the private and esoteric property of the schools, and spread its influence over all the world. The soul now, instead of the mind, demanded for itself an ex- planation of the world, and men flocked to him who had aught to tell them of life, its meaning and its destiny. At this crisis Zeno appeared with his Stoical doctrine, presenting the most earnest and most striking exposition of the results of Greek Philosophy, and offering a rvUe of life and code of morals which gained the allegiance of the sincerest spirits of his age. And thus Stoicism, which has been justly called " the transition to modernism," " the contact of oriental influ- ences with the world of classical thought," owed its birth to no outward pressure, but to the internal impulse of the human soul; an impulse, however, which itself was the offspring of despair. No faith was left to men ; for the old mythologies had ceased to command their belief or influence their conduct. Political life had become impossible ; for PEIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 207 the Macedonian conquests had stamped out the last spavks of corporate existence. And, at last, Philosophy had failed them ; for while the old thinkers had devoted their lives to " forging a golden chain which should link earth to heaven," they now seemed to have spent their strength in weaving " ropes of sand." " The sublime intuitions of Plato," says Lightfoot, " had been found too vague and unsubstantial, and the subtle analysis of Aristotle too hard and cold to satisfy the natural craving of man. for some guidance which should teach him how to live and to die." Sad as was the birth of Stoicism ; stern, unbending, and almost fanatical as were its moralisms, its early life was fostered in the gardens and porch of Athens, where " Zeno and Cleanthes and Chrysippus lived," as Plutarch says, " as though they had eaten the lotus, spellbound on a for- eign soil, enamoured of leisure, and spending their long lives in walks and books and discourses." These were the happy school days of Stoicism, when, in the hands of Greek masters, it was educated to meet the moral and intellectual demands of the age. It was then that it breathed something of the religious atmosphere of the East, which fostered, on the one hand, the sublime devotion of a David or an Isaiah, and, on the other, the proud self-righteousness and self-mortification of an Egyptian Therapute or an Indian Eakir. It was then that it imbibed that intensity of moral purpose which in after days proved its strength. But not yet had its real strength been tested by contact with the sterner realities of mere practical life. A wider sphere was in store for it. It must needs measure its strength with the other philo- sophical systems, and prove its worthiness to abide. Borne, the centre of the world's life and activity, is the new sphere, and here must be developed those practical results which are to determine its future power and influ- ence. 208 THE SPEAKER. Peculiar agencies had been at work preparing the soil for the transplantation. When Greek thought had for a time exhausted itself on the speculative side, and left the moral side prominent, then were developed the great moral systems. Not thus at Eome. No speculative inquiry had held enwrapped her greatest minds. No ; quenchless thirst for a knowledge of the objective world about them had turned away all thought from the subjective consciousness. Kome's absorbing thought had been conquest. And now that the goal of her ambition had been reached, and the Roman supremacy established, the thoughts of men were turned inward and concentrated on the needs of the indi- vidual soul, and, finding no guiding spirit of their own, became the easy intellectual conquest of the conquered Greeks. And now in Stoicism the best of the old Eoman charac- ter found expression. And here stands out the true his- toric Stoicism in its noblest attitude. When the conquests of Rome flooded the city with wealth ; when Atheism joined hands with superstition and ran riot in the minds of men ; when luxury sapped the strength of Rome's best life, and when sadness rested like a pall over the city. Stoicism lifted its voice against the excesses of the age, and did what it could to stem the forces which were hurrying the city to her doom. In that awful age it was Stoicism which offered a haven of rest to serious minds, when all about them human life was en- anted as a farce until the curtain dropped and the foot- lights went out, and men heard their own souls hissing at them through the dark. Presenting a rough but striking parallel to the western career of Stoicism appeared now the Christian faith, offer- ing, in the incarnation of God himself, the long-sought " golden chain " which should " link earth to heaven," and pressing on with the authority of her divine commission to conquer the world, until she planted the cross upon the PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 209 ruins of Pagan mythologies and brought in humble sub- jection all systems of Philosophy to her feet. Stoicism, too, in its outward form, yielded and passed away before the new faith, but the Stoical spirit remained, and still continues to reproduce itself in the world. The Ascetic of later days, who fled from the noisy strife of the sin-stricken world to ponder undisturbed on duty and on judgment, on death and eternity, on heaven and hell, was, in a sense, the Stoic of earlier times, who had changed his philosophic gown for the garb of a monk. And the " Society of Jesus," which so powerfully influenced the life and thought of all Europe, was, like Stoicism, founded and propagated by men, the intensity of whose moral will was more prominent than the fineness of their intellect. And Calvinism itself, in its external gloom and high necessarianism, presented a striking parallel to the old philosophy. And thus can be easily traced the influences of Stoicism in the thought of ages after its departure down even to the days of the Puritans, in whom we discover abundant proof of the presence and power of its spirit. " They were men," says Macaulay, " whose minds had derived a peculiar character from the daily contemplation of superior beings and eternal interests." To them the objective world paled before the majestic importance of the individual. " The very meanest among them," he con- tinues, " was a being to whose fate a mysterious and terri- ble importance belonged. * * * For his sake empires had risen and flourished and decayed. Por his sake the Almighty had proclaimed his will by the pen of the evan- gelist and the harp of the prophet. He had been wrested by no common deliverer from the grasp of no common foe. He had been ransomed by the sweat of no vulgar agony, by the blood of no earthly sacrifice. And if the traces of Stoicism may be found in the character of the Puritans, as truly may it be seen in their literature. 210 THE SPEAKER. In its earlier days, while the Epicurean school could point to Lucretius as their poet, Stoicism had but the crabbed satires of Persius and the rhetorical verses of Lucan to offer. Now, however, it may claim some share in Bunyan's " Pilgrim's Progress " and in Milton's " Para- dise Lost." For in Bunyan " the basis of the whole concep- tion is abstract," the picture of an inner life ; and in Milton, sublime as is the imaginativeness, it is yet cold and un- earthly, and the inspiration is drawn rather from a rich and varied learning than from vivid impressions of external life. And who shall estimate our whole debt to Stoicism, or how vast that debt may grow ? For it ushered man through the portals of a new world — the world of sub- jective inquiry — and twenty centuries of thought have but carried him over its threshold. Here Philosophy is putting forth her highest efforts, and reaping her richest harvests. Here Science is fast following her footsteps, seeking out new phenomena, and applying her rigid tests to the laws of the new sphere. And here Literature, look- ing down through the vista of the years, sees for herself a future more brilliant than her fondest hopes had dreamed; a future in which fiction and poetry and the drama may turn aside from the beaten paths of the conventionalities to the more attractive retreats where lie hid the motives and sentiments and passions of mankind ; with which it is not her province to deal, however, in a scientific or metaphysical manner, as does a modern school which, in its spirit of minimizing realism, would kill human nature and dissect it in order to portray its life, overlooking, in its microscopic search for minutiae, the broader and more pertinent realities which lie before its eyes. But it re- mains for a truly realistic school to deal with these in their actual concrete forms, and to continue a course begun in enriching literature with a " Daniel Deronda" and an " In Memoriam " and a " Faust," PEIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 211 And thus we trace the rise and influence of Stoicism ; a philosophical system which was the offspring of despair ; born on the threshold of subjective inquiry, deriving much of its abstract character and the intensity of its moral pur. pose from the East ; fostered in the intellectual atmosphere of Athens, but reaching its highest development and exhib- iting its most practical results in the sterner life of Rome ; conquered, at length, in its outward form, by the irresist- ible power of the Christian faith, yet extending its influ- ences until it has moulded human institutions and affected human character to a greater extent than any purely philo- sophical system of either the ancient or modern world. THE PHILOSOPHY OF REFORM. Baibd Peize Oration, Jas. H, Pershing, '88. The history of civilization is a record of progress. From age to age nation has transmitted to nation something which is never lost, but which grows and continues as a common inheritance, ceasing only with the end of time. The storm of revolution and the sunlight of reformation are nature's means of purification in the moral and politi- cal world. To behold a people breaking their fetters asunder in the full consciousness of being men and citizens, is a sublime and ennobling spectacle. But is it not still more of an inspiration to witness wrong and error fade away before the spirit of calm and consistent progress, before the gradual unfolding of truth from the inner life of the soul ? Here we behold the union of might with right ; the substitution of silent action for startling inno- vation; the judicious concession of the imperious demands of absolute necessity to a reverent regard for law and order — principles which characterize the true method of reform. "There is nothing great in the present which is not 212 THE SPEAKER. rooted in the past." Eevolution and reformation are both the results of long processes of preparation the full mean- ing of which can hardly ever be discerned. The one is a stream which loses itself in the earth but a short way from its source, accumulates its strength in secret, and finally breaks forth a mighty torrent, bursting through every bul- wark and sweeping away whatever attempts to stem its tide. The other is a tiny seed, dropped into the awaiting soil, its germination and growth unseen and unheeded, until behold, "the height thereof reaches unto heaven, and the sight thereof to the end of all the earth." Reform, therefore, is not revolution. As Disraeli would say, " It is progress along the line of tradition." It is necessarily the work of the masses, springing solely and immediately from the inner life of man, only to be induced in human nature, and never produced by mere external and artificial contrivances. Universal interest in advancement is a necessity of true reform. It matters not how far phi- losophers may hold the doctrines for which men struggle to be right or wrong, — -the destinies of mankind depend upon their acquiring an interest in what is great and exalted. The principles at the base of any reform must be so broad and powerful as to be readily appreciated by the great mass of the people, and of sufficient interest to induce action as well as belief. Certain ideas with reference to our country and our rights, our religion and our homes, objects not merely of reason but of affection, these are the principles wliich move men and determine the destiny of their race. We often seek in vain for the definite origin of great and lasting reforms. They spring from the spontaneous desire of great majorities, from the rooted instinct in man to strive for a more exalted life. Their immediate occasion is the presence of some burden inconsistent with justice and the dignity of human nature, and imposed by the tyranny of ignorance and crime. Then human rights assert them- selves, and affronted nature sets in action her invincible PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 213 powers to right the wrong. There need be no startling innovation, no volcanic outburst, no sweeping away of old and tried institutions ; but steadily and surely those under- lying principles, deep down in the moral and social nature of man, aroused by the supreme animation of enthusiasm for humanity, possess the heart of the nation, and with a change as silent as the transition from night to morning, behold, society passes from darkness to light. The reformation of the sixteenth century was more truly a religious revolution. It was an event connected with all the past and all the future. In its political effect, however, it demonstrated the clear principles of reformation. There was the new-born desire to think and judge freely and independently ; there was the great endeavor to emancipate human reason,' to rescue the citizen from the absolute power of the spiritual order ; there were set in motion those silent yet irresistible forces which influenced all Europe, placed society and the state on a new basis, and prepared the way for complete civil and religious liberty in their new home across the sea. The English revolution was more truly a reformation. In it no ancient element entirely perished ; no new element gained a total ascendency ; no particular principle obtained an exclusive influence. There was a simultaneous develop- ment of different forces, and a negotiation or compromise between their pretensions and their interests. Again, in that period of parliamentary and social reform of the pres- ent century, when England, " the mother of free peoples," herself became free, the movement had its origin and suc- cess in the development of new ideas and new principles of civilization. Parliament could not for a moment resist, because the demand of a righteous nation was knocking at its doors. With the lamp of history for our feet, how shall we be guided in the social labyrinth of our own times ? Should we not be reminded that those broad and immutable prin- 214 THE SPEAKER. eiples whieli must characterize a true reform cannot be made the exclusive possession of a sect or political creed ? Should we not be reminded that reform is not a warfare against flesh and blood, that it cannot be accomplished on the one hand by violence and bloodshed, nor on the other by dragging moral questions into the dusty field of partisan warfare ? There is in our midst a reform dear to the heart of every believer. It sprang out of the holy purpose of a deeply moved community. Says John A. Andrew: "The temperance reformation was truly and genuinely a gospel work ; it was a mission of love and hope, and the power with which it wrought was the evidence of its inspiration. While it held fast to its original simplicity, * * * it was strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. But when it passed out of the hands of its evangelists into the hands of its hirelings ; when it became a part of the capi- tal of political speculation, and went into the jugglery of the caucus ; * * * when the gospel, the Christian church, and the ministers of religion were yoked to the car of political triumph, then it became the victim of one of the most ancient and most dangerous of all the delusions of history." If the story of civilization, with its record of failure and success, be to us a guide, it must teach us that the duty of the reformer is the same in all ages and among all nations ; that it is to awaken the people to the noblest aspirations, and to educate that " public voice which shakes the palace, which penetrates the grave, which precedes the chariot of Almighty God, and is heard at the judgment seat ; " and every impulse given to the social and moral improvement of the world is an impulse in obedience to that law " whose home is the bosom of God and her voice the harmony of the world." PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 215 THE INFLUENCE OF SCIENTIFIC THOUGHT ON LITERATUEE. Maclean Prize Okation, by H. G. Drummond, '89. The history of literature is the history of thought. The vague grandeur of the Indian Vedas ; the immortal lit- erature of the Greeks, perfect in form and finish ; the burning eloquence and patriotism of a Cicero, each em- bodies the thought of a nation. Nay, even the inspired writings of the Hebrews show us not less the moral fibre of the people than they do the God of nations. So every new idea, every reaction against established thought, leaves its impress on the literature of a nation. Behind the new birth of literature was the new birth of learning; behind the great English epic, the vivifying influence of Puritanism. So the English literature of the nineteenth century, varied and complex though it be, is shaped and moulded by the spirit of scientific investigation, by the influence of scien- tific thought. The deep earnestness and warm feeling of the age of Cromwell had given place to cold reason and passionless logic. A lack of earnestness means a lack of sincerity. The reason was the reason of mathematics ; the logic, the product of the schools. An age which could pro- duce a Hume in philosophy and a Pope in art was an age ripe for change. The gods of Greece, Pope tells us in the preface to his Iliad, are still the gods of poetry. No wonder that poetry was passionless, since the least real feeling would have shattered to fragments such an artificial ma- chinery. The return to sincerity, that is the return to truth, in thought and literature, was to come, not through philosophy or art, but through science ; a science at first practical, and finding its incentive in the material better- ment of man's condition ; latterly, speculative and carried on for the sake of knowledge itself. 216 THE SPBAKEE. The present is an age of industrialism. The deeper truths, the broader generalizations of science have not yet reached the minds and hearts of the many. An empirical knowledge of such facts of nature as man may turn to his own selfish ends, is the valued acquisition of the hour. Not he who discovers to men a yet unknown truth of nature, but the one who cunningly utilizes that truth for the con- venience of man, receives the plaudits of the public. Such a science, while it continues the dominating principle in the minds of men, must blight, with its cold materialism, religion and philosophy and poetry alike. Even true science must eventually suffer, when this, which should be her humble attendant, assumes her title and her dignity ; and the telescope, as it follows the nightly path of the stars, offers a mute but eloquent appeal against such an usurpa- tion. Beneath this science of industrialism there has grown up a science of the intellect ; nay, rather that spirit of natural investigation, initiated by the desire for sensuous gratifica- tion, has been caught up by the resistless tide of thought and carried beyond the narrow sphere of material use. Above the details of the specialists, and approaching close to the threshold of that region into which the soul of man, unaided by a higher power, can never enter, we have a few great ideas — ideas which must ever remain among the grandest generalizations of the human intellect. The poet may escape the smoke of factories and the noise of machin- ery. He cannot escape the ideas of law and of ceaseless change ; for these are of the eternal verities of nature, which, shall be when the earth has passed away. The influence of science upon literature must therefore be not transitory or incidental, but the permanent and profound influence of immutable thought. To a sensibility fine enough to apprehend it, every thought and feeling which art employs would show the moulding touch of this potent factor of modern life. In deepening PRIZE OKATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 217 the poet's view of nature, in strengthening and remoulding the tendency toward realism, in casting over the creations of the imagination the sombre robe of philosophic doubt, its power has been most clearly and distinctly felt. Each of these movements in literature finds its fullest expression in the writings of a single man. With the first we associate the name of Wordsworth, with the second that of Brown- ing, with the last that of Tennyson. The photographic reproductions of natural objects which abound in the pages of Thomson's " Seasons," the minutely detailed descriptions of Cowper, however true in every out- ward characteristic, could no longer soothe and charm the minds and hearts of men. The naturalist and the physicist had taken possession of the outward forms of nature. He who had plucked the rose from its stem and torn it fibre from fibre beneath the lens of the microscope, who had re- solved the rainbow into a countless number of watery prisms, could not be deeply touched by a mere description of either, however beautiful in diction or graceful in rhyme and rhythm. The poet must go beyond the blush of the rose, and the soft tints of the bow. He must show us that in nature which neither the microscope nor the scalpel could lay bare to human ken. And so the poet-thinker, Words- worth, came with his mission — to show to men the divine life in nature, humanity as the key to her richest treasures. Thus may he who has solved the surface mysteries of nature still feel " A sense sublime Of something far more deeply interfused. Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean, and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things," And SO still be " A lover of the meadows, and the woods, And mountains." 218 THE SPEAKEE. In Wordsworth the central theme was the soul in nature ; in Browning it is the soul in man. The one was influenced by the results of scientific thought, the other is moulded by its method. In the person of Robert Browning we be- hold the spirit of sceptical investigation and subtlety of analysis, which have formed the dominating principles of modern science, possessing themselves of the mind of a poet. With these he probes the human soul to its deepest recesses, dissects each passion and feeling, and lays bare be- fore the eyes of men the hidden motives and desires of the heart. A consummate master of melody and rhythm, he sacrifices both in his search for truth. His whole style is transformed. A new realism, having its basis in critical thought, and counting nothing which touches human life too great or too small for poetic treatment, comes into being. Every great advance in any field of thought, though in its final reconcilement it add a new confirmation to known truth, must, at its inception, bring under a searching scrutiny the established thoughts of men. So between the newly apprehended truths of science and the older and higher truths of philosophy and religion there has arisen a tem- porary, though none the less a hard-fought, conflict. The triumphant re-establishment of religious truth is of vital importance to literature ; for the decay of faith implies no less the decadence of art than of morality and vigorous life. The immediate effect, wherever doubt has supplanted faith, has been to infuse a spirit of melancholy into all the prod- ucts of art. We are ever conscious of this undertone of sadness in the writings of those who have forsaken the religion of their fathers and their faith in things unseen, though it be hidden under a forced mirth or clothed in forms of exquisite beauty. No art work shows more clearly this chilling touch of uncentred faith than the earlier por- tions of Tennyson's "In Memoriam." The then prevalent unrest in thought has colored his mind and his art before PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 219 ever sorrow entered his life ; but not until the death of a cherished companion forced home to his heart the problems of life and immortality and love, did these dark questionings of science find full expression in his poetry, did his higher reason struggle with them and conquer. As he returns to his earlier faith in a personal God revealed to men, the broken and confused cries of despair give place to the calmer song of peace. The elegy which had begun with the dirge of death, concludes with the glad sound of mar- riage bells, and with unwavering gaze the poet looks forward to the " One far-off divine event, To wliiclitlie whole creation moves." So we trace in part the influence of scientific thought upon literature, an influence which, despite the gloomy foreboding of lovers of art, the exulting prophecies of its detractors, has at no time converted to discordant strains the divine song of the poet. For the conventional phrase- ology and worn-out classicism of the eighteenth century it has substituted a new imagery and a spirit of truthfulness. Swinburne sings with exquisite melody the swan-song of dying pagan art. But the spirit of the old Greek poetry — the spirit of beauty — purified of its earthly body shall never die. THE NATIONAL ANTIPATHY TO THE NEGRO. Baird Pbize Obation, by Koeekt Eliot Speee, '89. syi.vania. The most painful problem confronting the nation to-day is the presence of the freedman. He was stolen from his native land. With horrors which can never be told he was borne by force to a strange country, and here, at the bid- ding of the trader's lash, was sunk into inhuman slavery. The results were hideous and awful. The negro was pos- 220 THE SPEAKER. sessed of reason ; slavery made liim a craven beast of bur- den. He might have been a prince among his people; slavery made him an outcast in social life. He had laws and hope ; slavery deprived him of the right to cherish them, shackled him with the restraints of civil inequality, made justice blind before him iu the courts of law, and barred in his face the gates of the house of God. For more than two centuries there was no hour when this institution of legalized human bondage did not grow stronger and more bitter, including all crimes, suggesting all meannesses, severing all ties. It issued at last in the gigantic iniquity of the slave power. With enormous wealth and influence, with blunted and blindfolded con- science, with hearts steeled with the haughtiness of ances- tral pride, this power sought to gain control of the national government and to make slavery a permanent and consti- tutional principle. No longer did the intelligence of the negro stand in the way, for the generations of his degrada- tion had imbruted him. Marvellous duplicity and consum- mate corruption in statecraft enabled it for years to frame public policies, to dictate political principles, and to control every department of our government, until at last it made covenant with death, and with hell stood at agreement, and in the frantic dance of secession wavered and went out amid the horrors of the whirlpool in which it would fain have ingulfed the nation. The fall of its presumptuous ambitions seemed to leave with the South an embittered and unrelenting hate of the black man. The tyranny of reconstruction and the part of the negro in the legislation of the emancipated yet devas- tated and defeated States, while with the intimidating aid of national troops they restrained this enmity, made it only more determined, more bitter, and more cautiously resolute. At last the South could endure no longer. The burden of taxation had become intolerable, threatening confiscation. Bonded indebtedness was enormous. The sweet voice of PRIZE ORATIONS OF PKINCETON COLLEGE. 221 industry died to a sullen silence. The time of humiliation was reached, and the maddened whites, though under the forms of law, struck off the chain, left the negro his equal- ity on the statutes, but proclaimed openly, as in the morn- ing song of the new South they proclaim to-day, that the white race must dominate in a land consecrated by their fathers' blood. This is the political problem of the race that was in bonds. It can be trusted to the future. The nation has passed judgment on the freedman's case in equity, and has declared that, equally with every citizen, he shall share civil and political rights. The free acceptance of that judgment by the South depends on the moral and social standing of the negro — and this question transcends polit- ical prejudices. It will patiently but persistently force itself upon us until we answer it. Is our antipathy to the negro a natural, God-given instinct, or is it a blind, unrea- soning enmity, acquired by association of his name and character for two centuries with the servile subjection of an alien and menial race ? The soft, winning voice of the South answers, as it answered when he was still a slave, " Disturb not with harsh words the serenity of the mother- land. Leave this problem to us and we will work it out ; it may be in tears, but it shall be in justice." In tones almost pathetic they ask for patient indulgence and sym- pathy, and the question has been left to them, must be left to them. And how have they answered it ? By assuming first, that the negro is by nature an alien and subject race, by guaranteeing fulness of justice to him and fondling him as a kindly and dependent being only when he is content to receive his rights distinctly, separate from the white race, and to surrender them when his maintenance might mean encroachment on the inherited privileges of the dom- inant people. An inexorable caste grinds him down, denies that his race was ever made in the image of God, denies that he is of one blood with all nations of men, denies all 222 THE SPEAKER. duty and responsibility in regard to him, sinks him in deep humiliation and uplifts before him once more the banner of the bondman's master : " Stand aside, thou slave, I am holier than thou ! " And all this is justified on the ground that it is a natural and legitimate instinct. It is true that it may be natural to the men of this generation, but the whole spirit and prejudice are false feelings engendered by seven generations of uncondemned property in the Afrjcan slave. It is not strange that out of the sown seed of the eternally false and inhuman principle of his natural subjection we have reaped a harvest of heart-breaking sorrows and filled the national garners with the ashen fruits of sectional strife. With admirable meekness the negro makes no violent complaint, presents no grievance that his liberties are too few. He only protests that it is unjust that a distinctive mark of his race over which he has no control should subject him to arbitrary and galling and ignominious discriminations. He does not deny that it is wise that an educational and property test should qualify his unre- stricted right to the franchise. Only it is insisted upon that this same test shall apply equally to his white neigh- bor. This and other political reforms are part of the treasure of the future. But after them all the great and painful and wearisome problem will be still untouched. Shall the negro stand on a social equality with the white man ? And though with indignant and clamorous voice the old feudal South answers, as it has answered, that it can never he, and the new South responds, as it has responded, that the attempt to accomplish it will lead those States through sorrows compared with which the woes of reconstruction shall be as the fading dews of morning before the roaring flood, in each case our one reply must be the only one con- sistent alike with the great truths of revelation and the common moral dictates of humanity, repeated, if need be, PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETOK COLLEGE. 223 again and again, and again purified, if need be, once more by the nation's tears. When the negro is worthy of social equality his color shall be no barrier. It is the voice of Necessity, and Necessity is an imperious teacher. It is the voice of Justice that for every drop of blood drawn by the lash, and for every drop shed by the sword, and for every drop lost to-day in the chain gangs of an abominable convict system, even at the eleventh hour there shall be reparation. If it be objected that all this is radical and impolitic, we can only reply, in the march of moral progress conserv- atism is the party of yesterday. The new conscience has dictated its commands, and will brook no refusal of obedi- ence. It is not advisory. It is imperative. It draws its inspiration from religious principle. It stands on the eternal truth. It shuns the wounds of bruised souls. It oppresses no hearts. It builds its empire on an entire human equality. Hither let us turn our faces, away from the last dark vestige of slavery to the last infolding glory of human liberty, away from the evening twilight to the radiance of the morning dawn. EVOLUTION IN CIVILIZATION. Maclean Prize Oration, by Edgeworth Bird Baxter, '90. However bitter the suspicious enmity it met at its birth, from short-sighted and narrow conservatism, the theory of evolution in nature is to-day one of the impregnably estab- lished generalizations of science. It has brought to light one more of the vast methods of the Creative mind. It has inspired progressive thought with a new motive ; and hand in hand with history it is destined to bulwark the very faith that deemed it foe, as superstition and tradition are powerless to do. 224 THE SPEAKER. When the enthusiasm of intellectual satisfaction which succeeds the advent of a great, controlling principle has at length allowed the mind to return to its suspended course of deliberate criticism and judicial insight, it begins to ask itself if it is not possible that in other spheres than that in which it first flashed into human ken, the governing power of this truth may subject to the sway of rigid law phe- nomena which have thus far seemed chaotic and capricious. This instinctive simplifying tendency of the mind ; this ceaseless craving to bring all the disassociated elements of the universe of being into harmonious accord under some grand unity of government — is the deepest homage which man can pay to truth. And surely we may find in it alone sufficient argument for an attempt to extend the principle of evolution into the sphere of human civilization. But we are the more confident that the attempt is not chimer- ical, nor even unreasonable, because we believe that between the forms and phenomena of civilization and of nature there is more than an accidental resemblance — there is an analogy deep-seated and significant. We believe that the same agencies to which we ascribe the production and development of the differentiated forms of nature will adequately explain the origin and growth of human insti- tutions ; and that between the " law of progress " in his- tory — so vague and undefined in character and operation — and the " law of evolution " in nature, a relation may be pointed out in agency, in process, and in method, too intimate to be' the result of chance and too instructive to be without value. The doctrine of evolution holds that the explanation of all phenomena of organic development in nature must be sought in the laws of environment ; that there is a constant tendency of every organism to so mould itself that it may be most completely in harmony with the conditions under which it exists. Not more adequately does such an hy- pothesis account for the development of nature's varied PRIZE OKATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 225 forms than it explains the origin and differentiation of the institutions of history. But we are met at once with the question, " What is the environment here ? " The answer is not far to seek. The environment of man's institutions is man's nature. It is his being in its every manifestation — his intelligence, his morality, his necessity ; all that he is — all that he thinks. Every institution of society, of government, of religion, that is born into civilization, bears upon it the impress of tliis moulding agency. If it is to live on, it must show itself in harmony with the environ- ment that gave it its being and its character. If it passes away, its death is the best — nay, the only proof that its essential elements came ultimately to war with human intelligence or with human morality. A thoughtful com- parison of the histories of the nations of the earth cannot fail to reveal that the characteristics which inhere in all humanity find expression in elements common to every civ- ilization; and that there is not, and has never been, one essential difference between the civilizations of the world for which an explanation may not be found in deep-laid distinction between the peoples that created them. Nei- ther is there caprice in the change of nations. Civiliza- tion neither advances nor retreats except as there is a correlated, causal elevation or degeneration of humanity. What man creates is but the shadow of what he is. Let knowledge attain to fuller proportions ; let religion grow purer, and the change will be best recorded in the develop- ment of institutions. When Christianity comes, it works no greater revolution in meij's individual morality than in their civilization ; and its shaping power reached the insti- tution only through the man. The rugged sternness of the Roman character at its best furnished an environment for a tense and vigorous philosophy of life which would have withered, like an unwatered plant, amidst the ener- vating luxuriousness of Orientalism. Identical, thus, in agency, the development of the organ- 226 THE SPEAKEK. isms of nature and the individual forms of civilization are according to the same process. As nature's myriad organisms were brought by gradual development from a few homogeneous primordial germs, so human progress is nothing other than the differentiation of a few original, embodied ideas into innumerable forms which are most completely the product of the environment of human nature. In both spheres, change due to the process of evolution is slow and scarce perceptible. In neither do forms ever spring perfected into being without antecedents. There is no leap from the simple to the complex. Human progress proceeds by intermediates — by infinitesimal in- crements. The decay of old institutions and the rise of new whose very life is sprung from the death of their antecedents, are processes rigidly subject to the same fundamental principle as the birth and death of natural organisms. Let us not be misled into supposing that because humanity at large is intelligent, it therefore pauses at intervals, turns to examining the exponent of itself in its civilization, computes its distance from ideal- ity, plans great reformations and deliberately undergoes proposed metamorphoses. Far from it. There are no such moments of grand self-judgment, there are no such gaps in history. Humanity is unconscious of its own growth. Humanity never calculates or predicts. Humanity sets no standards. In the creation of the forms of civilization it deals only with the present. It moves on its mysterious and imposing course at once intelligently and blindly — intelligent as to the moment, but blind as to the future. Men do not construct provisional systems as steps toward others more rational and more elaborately complete. They create for themselves, and not for generations who shall fol- low them. And because the vision of humanity never extends beyond the present need, human progress is deliv- ered from the lawless caprice which would inevitably result from far forecasting. So in civilization and in PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 227 nature, forms are born by degrees, and die by degrees ; and the present rises phoenix-like from the ashes of the past. Things that now are, are but stages in the onward sweep of evolution to others not yet to be. Institutions may seem to spring up from the shallow soil of a present caprice — a national frenzy — but their roots stretch deep and far into the fertile immensity of the past. Revolu- tions are never sadden. They come slowly and their re- sults are never strange. Humanity is always prepared for what happens, for of its own inmost nature the happening is born. Representative government differs much from absolutism, but the world did not grow breathless at the appearance of the first republic. And just as no step in organic nature's development has been superfluous, so none of these marvellous creations which were the handiwork of humanity have been useless. The process of evolution had 7ieed of oppression, caste, and selfishness, ere it could arrive at liberty, equality, and fraternity. The principles already enunciated contain within them- selves a sufficient proof that, alike in agency and process evolution of nature and of civilization are alike, finally, in method. If we reflect that in the struggle for existence of institutions which were the varied expressions of the same idea, those have always survived which we now, from our standpoint of advanced wisdom, know to have been the best fitted to promote the ultimate progress of the race, we must conclude that, in the last sphere, as in the first, there is a power of natural selection. Thus it is that institutions differ as the people who create them are different ; for the very measure of fitness varies with the diversity of natural characteristics. Were it not so, there would result a con- firmed discord between nations and their civilizations, a thing as impossible as a lack of harmony between natural organisms and their environment. The social conceptions of the Hindu and the Anglo-Saxon, bearing so slight a resemblance to each other, must and do find expression in 228 THE SPEAKER. social forms quite as distinct. It cannot be denied that in the course of history huge abortions have appeared, outrag- ing human intelligence and human morality. But nature again furnishes abundant parallel phenomena, and our analogy is but strengthened the more by this similarity even in exceptions. Thus, then, we trace those deep unities in the origin and development of the organisms of civilization and of nature which, though they may do no more, yet render reasona- ble the belief that they are the outcome of a still deeper unity of principle. Certainly analogies are too danger- ously fraught with fallacies for us to be unaware that they are the most insidious tools of fantastic speculation ; but it may yet be opened to our sceptical eyes that these prob- lematic identities which flash upon us at every turn in the realms of truth possess a significance which mere chance could never lend them. In drawing these reflections to a close, we cannot refrain from a brief reference to two lessons of more than passing interest which flow from them. They aid us, in the first place, to a reasonable solution of that problem which has been for centuries a battle-ground of philosophic reflection — the Creator's relation to human progress. An irrational fatalism, arrogantly assuming to itself the guardianship of the glory of God, and an equally irrational philosophy of individual freedom, both equally intolerant, both equally wrong, have, with a zeal only more misdirected than in- tense, boldly shaped facts to accord with themselves, instead of seeking to bring themselves into a real harmony with the facts. It need scarcely be said that the phenom- ena of history — and they only, if we would arrive at the truth — must be made the basis of a judgment as to the nature of the divine control. If, as we have maintained, human progress is but another name for evolution in a higher sphere than material nature, then the growth of civilization in its every manifestatiQn is not to be ascribed PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 229 to direct divine interference, moulding events, shaping tendencies, and inspiring motives. The part which the Creator plays lies only in his ordaining such agencies that their unhindered and unaided operation must result in that unceasing advance which, because as a grand result it transcends man's planning, we mistakenly refer to direct divine ordering. God has made civilization only in that he has made humanity. He is the author of the marvel- lous co-working of causes in producing intelligent results, only in that he has endowed man with intelligence and morality, and established an unalterable principle to con- trol the relations subsisting between him and his insti- tutions. Save for a few signal instances when the creative hand has stemmed the swelling current of events and hewed new channels for the world's activities, all that men have ever done has flowed solely from what they were. Throughout history as a whole there has been no produc- tive providence, save the providence of God's unalterable laws. But our reflections teach us one more lesson — the great and needed lesson of hope. He who reads history aright cannot despair of the future of the race. Pessimism is but the shadow which gloomy thought casts upon events when it stands between them and the light of the principle which underlies human progress. The past of humanity vindicates its claim to our confidence in its future. Not alone because of its inspiring achievements, but because those achievements are the outcome of causes which resolve themselves, in their last analysis, into the un- changing final cause, and which are destined to become inoperative only when the sublime harmony of the universe is turned to chaos and confusion. No ! the end is not yet come ; and, thank God, it never will come till the end of all things is at hand. Let the race scorn an accursed pessi- mism which ignores truth only to terminate in unreasoning despair. Let it rear its faith upon the meaning of its 230 THE SPEAKER. history. It has come from darkness into light unled. It has built mighty sj'stems out of self-discoYered facts. It has proved its resources vast beyond all measurement. No difficulty has ever defeated it, no problem ever baffled it. If, on its onward march, hostile forces have arisen vfhich, seemingly unconquerable, made it pause, it sum- moned to its aid the calm, majestic power of reformation, or hurled against its enemies the lightnings of awful revo- lutions till opposition fled in impotence from its pathway. And he who, in the face of such a past, and despite the unalterable principle which has controlled this grand evo- ITition towards perfection, can say that our divine humanity has at length exhausted itself, and that progress must turn to stagnation, can neither know the past nor comprehend the meaning of the present ; and has not only lost his confidence in man, but must have lost with it his faith in nature and in nature's God. PHILOSOPHY AND CIVILIZATION. Baied Prize Okatiost, Edgbwobtu Bird Baxter, '90. It is a strange but interesting fact that when ideas embody themselves in concrete political, economic, social forms, and, thus incorporated, become part and parcel of that objective life of society which we call civilization, the intensity of the impression which they at first made on men's minds grows less and less, until at length they are strongly conscious only of the forms themselves — void of any inner, sustaining vitality. They forget the thought which alone makes the form possible, and civilization re- duces itself to a mere system of ingenious adjustments — a thing whose motive, whose rationale, is sunk in mechanism. And yet. it is surely true, that if we would find the most faithful record of human thought, the completest embodi- PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 231 ment of human faiths, we must go to those very creations by which humanity has environed and conditioned its life. In man's institutions is the mirror of himself; and the statute-book, the political system, the social law, are crammed with creeds. But more than this. Every civilization, in its last analy- sis, reveals, as a pervading soul that unifies all its complex elements and energizes every fibre of its mighty structure, a distinct philosophy. History demonstrates no truth more perfectly than that the great ideas which guide the per- sonal life of man tend, at least, to weave themselves into every form that he creates and every law that he ordains. That there are many and serious discords between what men believe, as men, and what they establish and prac- tise, as a society, is, unhappily, true enough. Christian America, even in the midst of the ghastly horrors of slav- ery, preached as loudly as though she had derived the warrant for that hideous system from the text itself — " Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." And there are only too many in our fair land to-day who, taking their stand on the fundamental distinction — which they pur- posely distort — between public and private morality, are striving to justify the exclusion of moral influence from its just share in the determination of political and economic procedures. But which, in the first cause, won the final victory — the selfish love of the institution, or the faith which a nation's deeds keeps with a nation's principles ? Let history answer. Slavery is gone from our midst for- ever, banished by the great truths with which . it was at war. And we firmly believe that the reign of political corruption and commercial selfishness shall make way at ^3,st for the dominion of purer and juster methods. Be the apparent exceptions what they will — and it needs but time to turn even them into evidence for the truth of our statement — ouv principle remains unshaken. It is that very principle which gives to the different civilizations of 232 THE SPEAKER. the world what we call their distinctively national charac- ter. If we would find the real differentiating force which makes America America, and India India, we must seek it in the essential dissimilarity of our philosophy from hers. Give to the Indian his conception of the relations of man to God and to his fellow-man, and then, and then only, can he curse his social organism with the infamous injustice of that system of rigid castes which is so abhorrent to more enlightened minds than his ; while our own justly -boasted "liberty, equality, and fraternity,'' the shibboleth of our national genius, finding noble expression in every sphere of our individual and national life, is utterly inconceivable save as the fair flower of a Christian philosophy. English history will never teach us that it was nothing more than a mere movement suggested by intelligent policy which shook to fragments the inhuman system of capital punish- ment that disgraced England in the beginning of the nine- teenth century. It was the same influence which is devel- oping slowly, but surely, into ever nobler proportions, the conception of a national conscience — the universally per- vasive influence of a great moral philosophy, demanding a dominion coterminous with human activity. The very nature of men demands always a harmony between their fundamental faiths and every element of their objective life. These reflections lead us to a principle of deep signifl- cance as embodying the dynamic relation between human progress and philosophy in its most universal sense. We confidently affirm that no essential transformation in a civilization is possible which is not directly conditioned by a corresponding fundamental revolution in human think- ing. However much this statement may commend itself, at a first glance for its simplicity and reasonableness, there is yet a widely prevalent impression among men that there is but one law which governs the development of civiliza- tion, and that is the law of immediate necessity — employ- PRIZE ORATIOKS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 233 ing, it is true, as its effective agent, an intelligent percep- tion that is, however, but the creature of compulsion, that responds to the demand of the present and then lapses into passivity until set at work once more by importunate human need. So broadly stated, as a universal principle, this theory is utterly inadequate. Limited to the sphere of what may be called the non-essential variation of details, it is largely true. Political suggestion and economic inven- tion do not spontaneously run ahead of the existing state of things. Men do not rush into revolutions for the love of them ; their causes are laid deep in the unendurable imper- fectness of the systems they aim to overturn. And we are bound to admit that great and radical modifications of institutions are conceivable independent of any philosophi- cal revolution — the brief ripplings on the surface of the great current of human life which yet flows on uninter- rupted in its accustomed channel. A Christian nation is not confined by virtue of its Christianity to a republican form of government. And it does not need new revelations on the brotherhood of man to shape a people's policy in the matter of free trade and protection. But even in such changes as these, if there be any vital relation be- tween the remodelled form and the trend of a nation's thought, the transformation must be such that, in the out- come, there shall be no real conflict between that thought and itself. Were it not, indeed, that new forms are thus measured according to one abiding standard, there could not be that approach to unity in the elements of a civiliza- tion which alone gives it its stability and coherence. So far, then, the thought which finds its expression in those changes which do not revolutionize the essential character of a civilization is the product of present, palpa- ble necessity. But the great truth for which we contend is that it is not mere necessity which gives birth to those deep and far-reaching revolutions in human thinking that seem to energize the world anew and to reconstruct, accord- 234 THE SPEAKER. ing to a greater and more perfect plan, the whole warp and woof of human civilization. Philosophy has an onward movement of its own that has no cause save that which lies in its own inherent, self-created energy. World-changing ideas are suggested from within — not from without. Phi- losophy is under no necessity to cast itself in the mould of human exigencies. If the defects of existing things some- times suggest an unproductive suspicion of the principles which gave them being, it is only in advancing thought that the power resides to create new and more perfect forms and inspire them with a fresh vitality. The clamor- ing chaos of Koman society, just prior to the Christian era, never could have forced the creation of a Christian philos- ophy. It is not that the cry for better systems compels the understanding of man into the perception of great truths ; it is because his thought surpasses his life that he strives to expand that life until it shall come up to the full measure of the sum of his new knowledge. And thus far shall he go and no farther. As easily could you or I transcend our own ideals as could a human society attain to systems or institutions which should embody broader truths than they have learned, or higher principles than they pro- fess. Not all the examples of history nor all the counsels of wisdom could ever make the Brahmin cry " Liberty, equality and fraternity," unless it first implanted in him loftier and juster conceptions of human relations and human destiny. And the clumsy, repressive, unproduc- tive institutions of China will remain, as they have re- mained for four thousand years, crystallized in unalterable form until the transforming power of new ideas shall remould them into the likeness of a greater and truer philosophy. This, then, is the cause of human progress in its last analysis — the never-ceasing struggle of humanity to attain to a perfect harmony between its inner and its outer life ; to inform its creations with the spirit of its philosophy. PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 235 Let us rejoice that it is never satisfied nor at rest while there is a conflict between these two — while its forms do not comprehend and express the full sum of its advancing knowledge. Let us rejoice, too, in the conviction that man can never attain to a philosophy of life so lofty that it can- not be wrought into every detail of his living. The truth — be it what it may — will ultimately triumph in civilization as in thought. And the splendid consummation of this double growth which the future shall bring to light, will be a philosophy so true and a civilization so in unity with that truth, that each shall be an inspiration to the perpe- tuity of the other. Philosophy shall find its perfect fulfil- ment in civilization, and civilization shall itself be the perfect warrant for the excellence of truth and its adequacy to the noblest developments of the corporate human life. LITERATURE AND LIFE. Maclean Prize Oration, George E. Wallace, '91. LiTEEATURE is gcological. Each stratum speaks of the past. Each outcropping ledge bears a testimony. Every fragment turned up by the spade of the antiquary has a story to tell us of the far-gone days when it too saw the light of the sun and heard the music of the birds in the branches above it. When we consider an epic or a drama, our first thought is : This is the work of a man ; it is lim- ited by his genius and the range of his knowledge ; its point of view is determined by his experience ; it is but the shadow of his personality. Here are two men living in London under the same king — Chaucer, a gallant gentle- man, the pride and delight of a glittering and luxurious court ; and Langland, a poor priest, burdened with pov- erty and gaunt with famine. One gives us gay pictures of life — processions, pageants. May mornings, and dreams of 236 a?HB SPEAKKR. love ; the other looks from his cavernous eyes, a stern and gloomy judge. He will address the revellers only to read their doom, and, when he sleeps, his visions will be of the multitudinous wrongs of the mute, long-suffering people. Yet behind our writer's experience and equally potent is the personality of the man. It is that individual and pecul- iar stamp, that primal impress which he receives from the hand of his Maker. It is that illusive something which makes him not like other men. It is that spontaneous variation which gives him a face, a gesture, a habit of thought, a soul of his own. Charles Lamb could never have made a Ben Jonson, and no amount of sweetness and light could have transformed the rugged Carlyle into a Matthew Arnold. But a man does not stand alone. He has antecedents, and the little circle of his daily life is but an eddy in the great stream. His personality is specifically his own, but in its genus it is national ; it is a spontaneous variation, but a variation from a fixed and well-marked type. We turn to the poetry and folk-songs of the Slavonic peoples and are touched by a childlike and submissive spirit, a brooding melancholy, a pathetic tenderness. They sing in a minor key of lovers who must part forever ; they love softly, and bear separation with a gentle and sorrowful resignation. There is none of the fire and defiance of the Frenchman, none of the stubborn pertinacity of the Ger- man. Their literature tells us these people are children, and as we read it we understand why the Czar is the Great White Father and Eussia the last patriarchal despotism in Europe. The development of many of these national characteris- tics we can trace. When men live together they learn to think together and feel • together. They are amder the same sky. If it is bright and warm, if wood and meadow and curving shore are sensuous with the soft harmonies of form and color, if the willing earth readily yields her PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCKTON COLLEGE. 237 fruits, we shall have the light-hearted races of the South. Their purpose shall be pleasure ; their ideal, beauty ; their life, one long rejoicing in the brightness and abundance around them. But if nature is stern and cold, the sky- sombre, the sea wintry, the forests dark, life becomes a veritable struggle for existence, and in that struggle the fibres of the soul grow hard and tough, the eye becomes fixed with a dogged determination, a race is developed strong, resolute, enduring. Such men do not smile. For them nature is no variegated pageantry, for them life is no long holiday. Stern necessity surrounds them. They must toil, endure, suffer. The sensuous side of their being is undeveloped ; the mind turns in upon itself and con- structs a gloomy mythology and a grim philosophy. Con- trast the productions of the Teutonic with those of the Romance nations. In every age, in every literary form you will notice the broad distinction. The Northern men have strong conceptions of duty ; they are sober-minded, introspective, and sad. Their novelist writes with a dis- tinct moral purpose, and even in the gladsome spring-time their poet cannot shake off his gloom. " Winter has waned that was the flowers' bale, And -thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs." Not so the warm-blooded child of Trance. He plunges into the delights of the returning bloom with a merry abandon. " Hail ! month of May, with garlands fresh bedight, All softly swaying in the balmy breeze, Filling the blooming woods with pinions light, To earth revived, you promise joyous ease." We find, too, with a nation as with a man, the second great factor is the experience through which it passes, for national personality means national life, and life means change, growth, progress. Each generation inherits a 238 THE SPEAKER. certain residuum of experience, a certain solid acquisition, which is in turn increased and transmitted to the next. The first impulse to compose came to men who were uncritical. They spoke because there was something in them clamoring for expression. They give us wild songs of battle, lofty hymns, or weird tales warm from the heart and glowing with a splendid imagery caught from their close contact with that nature which they loved and dei- fied. So Homer celebrated the wrath of Achilles and the valor of Hector; so the Sanscrit peoples chanted their hymns to the Great Father as they climbed the slopes of the Himalayas ; and so our own Saxons sang of the deadly G-rendel and his slayer Beowulf in words so vehement, broken, and furious that they reproduce the shock of the conflict and the " din of slaughter-stroke." But the type of the later age is Goethe. Not for him the whirlwind and chariot of Homer's inspiration ; not for him the beatific vision of the Harper of Israel ! Clear, cool, penetrating, in the midst of the accumulation of facts and multiplicity of systems which mark our day, his princely intellect was master of them all. jSTo science was unfamiliar to him, no art escaped him, no history or philosophy which he had not made his own. The infinite complexity of modern life found its synthesis in his capacious brain. No breezes from the caves of Helicon or draughts from the fountain of Castalia wrought the magic of his mood. In quietness of soul, in the pure white light of a developed consciousness and a critical reflection he fashioned his mighty works and demonstrated to a doubting age that the spirit of poetry still lived ; that underneath all the wearisome detail of this merchandizing, exploring century, there still were the springs of human life, as deep, as rich, as inexhaustible as when the first bard struck his first impassioned note. But progress is not uniform. The history of the world must be written in epochs, and literature reflects what his- tory narrates. The character of the times must determine PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 239 whether any literature shall be produced at all. For such a production implies energy and an enthusiasm. If society is absorbed in other pursuits, or is wearied and discour- aged in spirit, there will be no creation. For more than a hundred years, while the English race at home was adding name after name to the splendid catalogue of its literary genius, the same race in America enrolled not a single one. The people were the same ; they inherited the same institu- tions and character ; they -were brought up under the same schoolmasters ; but here the necessities of a new country gave them tasks very different from the composition of stinging satires and elegant essays. Look on the other hand at France under Louis XIV. Here an elegant and opulent court, devoted to a life of leisure and refinement, made of a strolling player a Moliere, and the world has laughed ever since at the rascalities of Scapin and the blunders of Monsieur Jourdain. But leisure and opportunity, without some impulse, some definite enthusiasm, can produce nothing of power. If the soul does not burn it can emit no spark. For a thousand years the monasteries of the west were devoted to the read- ing and making of books, and yet what schoolman has added to the time-defying literature of the world ? Why was a period so fruitful in books so barren in literature ? The spirit of men had grown sad. The light of the new gospel had been swallowed up in the gloom of mediaeval barbarism. Eternal Rome, the glory of the centuries, un- dermined by its own corruption, had fallen with a crash ; the masses were sunk in a coarse and grovelling sensual- ism ; for the man who thought there was nothing but despair. The purpose of the ages had failed, the golden hope had perished, and so, stricken by the spectre of a ruined world whirling on to its final doom, the affrighted soul lost the power of action, withdrew into itself, and sought peace in isolation and a blind submission to an overshadowing authority. But when the spell was broken, 240 THE SPEAKER. when discovery and invention and commerce had given men a new interest in life and brought back confidence and self-respect, when the world had come to believe in the dignity and destiny of man, then the enchained spirit broke its bonds and found utterance in a wave of literary expres- sion that gave Italy her Renaissance and England her Elizabethan era. The epoch, too, determines the standpoint. When Europe in the darkness of ignorance and civil disorder, saw the possibilities of manhood only in dreams and felt vaguely, instinctively, the hard and narrow limits of mediaeval life, her poets expressed her longing for the absolute, her aspi- rations for something higher and better, by picturing impossible heroes performing impossible deeds. The con- dition of mediaeval men made a romantic school inevitable ; and as they sat in their rude castles and heard of Tancred and Eogero slaying giants and Paynims before whom many a worthy knight had fallen, they felt if they did not see in such a tale the analogue of their own life, only for them the deliverer had not yet come. But now, when the dreams of men are being worked out, and our ears are full of the actual achievements of this nineteenth century, our writing must take the standpoint of its age ; and we have our Thackerays and Dickenses and George Elio'ts intro- ducing a literature of practical philanthropy and levelling good homely thrusts at the common vices and evils of the day. The epoch, too, is expressed in the form its work assumes. ISTo one would write an allegory now. Our great- est genius has made his name imperishable in the drama where modern poets have failed ; the dialogue embodies the richest philosophic thought of the past, and yet it is out of the question to-day. We seem to feel the subtile differences between forms which suit them to our varying conditions, and where old ones grow inadequate we evolve new. The father of modern science gave us the essay, and PEIZE OEATIONS OF PEINCBTOK COLLEGE. 241 the peculiar needs of our times created the novel. The drama had given outlines of character and action. It had presented life in the relief of a Parthenon frieze, catching attitudes and expressions, but leaving much to be inferred. But when that supreme conception of the personality of man towards which the world had been so long strugglino- was at last reached, then life became more significant and worthy of a deeper study. The proper respect for stage effects, also, had vanished, and where the G-reek heart thrilled as Zeus thundered upon Prometheus, the modern only smiled and thought of the copper sheets behind the scenes. We had learned that the tragedy of life is not in the roar of the tempest or the clash of steel, but in the human breast. This inner action with its fine analysis and slow development the stage could not attempt. We needed a new form to express our dawning sense of the dignity and sacredness of each man as man — the supreme interest of every event and every sentiment which might affect a human life — and it came. The first requirement of real literature is that it shall be universal. Nothing shall live that does not go deeper than the manners of the time, deeper than the transitory interests and momentary ambitions of a short-lived gener- ation and touch the great throbbing heart of the world. For, after all, we are one. Far removed we may be in time, living under different skies, speaking a different tongue, and having a different inheritance, still we are one. The same heart has beaten in every breast ; the same mysteries have been faced, the same problems confronted by every soul that has crossed the threshold of life. And as we who stand upon the very verge of time, possessing the long inheritance of the ages and enjoying the accumu- lated triumphs of our race, by the magic of its literature look far back into the past, we see that the sky was as bright then, the earth as fresh and green, the impulses of the heart as strong and various, and the great burden of 242 THE SPEAKER. unaccomplished destiny as heavy then as now. Those fierce and shaggy Thanes drinking deep in Edwin's mead- hall seem remote enough from us, and yet, before the mes- senger of the evangel one rises and in sentences which have never been surpassed in beauty and pathos reveals how his mind had been groping in the dark for some broad and sure foundation ; reveals how that irrepressible ques- tion, that insatiable demand for truth, was as imperative and absorbing in the fens and forests of the Saxon as in the vaulted judgment hall of the Eoman governor. Per this is the question of the world, and all its literature swells in one mournful and various chorus to give utter- ance to the answers which the restless brain of man has proposed. The Sagas of Scandinavia and the light and elegant verses of Horace, the Vedic hymns from distant India and the witty and cynical writings of Voltaire, each in its way presents a philosophy of life. The Genius of Literature is Protean. It may mask in the gay attire of an Aristophanes or trail through Hell the sable garments of a Dante ; it may express itself in the amorous lays of a Flamenca or assume the armor and heavy battle shout of the Song of Eoland. But in whatever form, under what- ever disguise, it is always the Genius of Life. It is still the expression of that same striving, hoping, erring, god- like human soul. And even when it rises to the subli- mest heights, when it enters the palace of the king, and in mysterious and awful characters inscribes the doom of nations upon the walls, there still we may trace the guid- ing "fingers of a man's hand." PEIZE OKATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 243 THE CHAMPION OF SPANISH EEPUBLICANISM. Baikd Prize Obation, Wilson Aull, '91. Spain has been slow to emerge from the gloom of the middle age. She lay still slumbering on, when the light of modern thought touched the eyes of her sister states and roused them one by one to the dawn of a new civiliza- tion. Since Cervantes set all Europe laughing at the wind-mill castles of Don Quixote, and since Murillo put the artistic world upon its knees before his seraphic Madonnas, Spain has produced few men worthy of a place among the great and master-spirits of the ages. But there has arisen one man who has given to the Spaniards the modern republican idea and who has bared his right arm to raise Spain to a level with the other countries of Europe. That man is Emilio Castelar. His brilliant university career, his jour- nalistic success, his humane role as a revolter, his popu- larity, all these joined and swelled into the flood-tide which bore him on to the Presidency of the Spanish Republic. Small wonder that the waving palms of sudden success fanned his hopes into a self-consuming blaze ; small won- der that his sanguine eye, fixed on his party in the full meridian of its glory, should fail to descry the gathering clouds; it is not marvellous that, deafened by shouts of applause, he should fail to hear the warning cry that Spain was not yet ready for republican rule ; it is not strange that a heart warmed toward every son of Spain should over-rate the Spanish intelligence and political sense ; not strange that an untried hand, energized by a burning zeal, should make in an unfledged republic the most radical reforms ; nor is it amazing that a man, infatuated with the republican idea, should even dissolve a Cortes and assume the sceptre of a dictator. 244 THE SPEAKER. That this act was inconsistent with Castelar's previous teaching, it were folly to deny ; no less inconsistent was his execution of the Spanish revolters before his denuncia- tions of capital punishment had died upon the air. Cas- telar was inconsistent, but he made the remedy fit the emergency ; if he was inconsistent, he was true — true to the conviction of the hour, true to himself, true to Spain. A vigorous enemy, he is just to his opponents ; while his voice denounces the crown and sceptre, his sword is drawn against the harpies of anarchy ; though unfortunate, he was bold and cheerful in the face of disaster ; if he made blunders in public affairs, his private life- was un- stained ; if he was weak in the execution of plans, he showed au ability to construct systems, to teach the peo- ple and to thrill them by his eloquence. This Castelar was ousted from his chair in the university, but it was for his fearless denunciation of a dishonest queen. This cultured scholar was immured in a Spanish prison, but it was for his efforts to secure the freedom of Spain ; and as he was dragged to a loathsome dungeon, his clothing was torn by royalist ruffians and his garments were soiled with the filth of the streets, but the princely mantle of his honor remained untouched, and the regal robe of his character continued without spot amid the con- fusion and corruption that surrounded him. This fearless Spaniard might have been more successful in gaining place and power had he been willing to hang upon the sleeve of a successful cause ; but when the new provisional government offered him office as Minister of Foreign Affairs, he proudly scorned the offer and cast in their faces the reply, " My conscience will not allow me to associate myself with demagogues, and my conscience and my honor keep me aloof from a state of things created by bayonets." By the fall of the Republic Castelar lost his power, but not his influence ; like Gladstone and Disraeli, he combines PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 346 literature with politics. Even -when in exile, by his facile pen he spoke, not to Spain, but to Europe ; he preached liberty, not to a state, but to a continent. His influence in the Cortes is strong, owing to his ability as an orator. When speaking of the ancient peoples, he seems to dwell in the distant past ; he walks and talks with the Caesars, he winds his way through the temples of the Acropolis, or strolls along the streets of ancient Babylon and mingles with its crowds. He has forgotten self entirely ; his words are fluent and rapid as the Ebro, scathing as the simooms that blow from Africa, terrible as the tempests that beat upon the Spanish plateau, and sublime as the summits of his native Pyrenees. Thrilled with love for the Seven Hills, Cicero, with stinging tongue, lashed the treacherous Verres from the Eternal City ; throbbing with righteous anger, Burke cudgelled the cruel Hastings at Westminster Hall ; and this Spaniard, fired with the same defiant spirit, hurled his thunderbolts at a rapacious Bourbon throne. True, monarchy succeeded, but it dares not now ride rough-shod over the people for fear of the Cortes. Nor is this all ; the broken chords of the republican faction, wakened by his eloquence, touched by his master-hand, may once more vibrate, inspiring a harmonious movement which may prove a serious menace to the Spanish crown. Be this as it may, one thing is certain, Castelar has been true to his con- victions. He takes the position which he conceives to be right, and there he stands ; he is a patriot, not a partisan. The statesmen of England and America, in lands of en- lightenment, have moved on, shoulder to shoulder, sounding the pibroch of an aggressive civilization ; this Castelar, on a soil of superstition, has striven single-handed to hold aloft the oriflamme of progress and to tear down that flag whose yellow means ignorance, whose red means treachery, and whose very fabric is the warp and woof of oppression. Castelar will go on record as one of Spain's greatest men ; for like the aloe tree, which goes on striving, straining, and 246 THE SPBAKEK. struggling patiently for a hundred years, that she may finally produce a single blossom, Spain has been content to wait for more than a century that she might at length send forth one flower to charm humanity with the rich coloring of his character, and to scatter throughout Spain and the world the subtle aroma of his genius. All honor to Castelar ; all honor to the enemy of that dynasty whose motto has been, " Pet the priests, rob the revenues, oppress the people ; " all praise to the statesman who broke the chains of the Cuban slaves, and who offered to Spain for the first time in her history the opportunity for freedom ; all praise to the champion of Spanish repub- licanism, the pride of the Spanish people, whose peerless brilliancy has made even his enemies spontaneously breathe forth his praise, as the beams of the orient morning made the cold lips of marble Memnon burst forth into irre- pressible song. THE IDEAL SPIRIT. Maclean Prize Oration, Clinton T. Wood, '92. Life and literature are daughters of a common parentage. The elder of this sisterhood is all action and reality ; the younger presents the high ideal. Between them there is the closest sympathy. Their try sting-place is the soul of man. That literature reflects life is a commonplace of oratory and authorship ; but that it has a higher function than mere reflection, has been proven repeatedly by national and indi- vidual experience. In the Platonic mind, beauty and the good are inseparable one from the other ; and so, even the poet who would please portrays the beautiful, and hence must be a teacher ; for the beautiful is the most fitting man- ifestation of the good. George Eliot lives to-day because of the deep ethical import of her works. The secret of PRIZE ORATIONS OF PRINCETON COLLEGE. 247 Browning's power and influence lies in the nature of his verse. It is soul poetry. There is a spirit by which letters are nurtured. Vishnu inspired the Hindoo mind, and the sublime Vedic hymns have endured through thirty cen- turies. The need of self-knowledge forced itself upon the mind of a Greek sophist, and Socrates is in the air we breathe to-day. Heaven burdened the heart of a Hebrew prophet with the consequences of the wickedness of its chosen people, and the thunderings of Isaiah live on for- ever. The thought of man has always been subject to feeling and revulsion of feeling, and to the restrictions of stern reality. Thus two great forces have been at work in all the ages, moulding the characters of men and nations. At times their relations have been properly adjusted and they have worked together in harmony. Then, through misun- derstanding, they have been brought into battle on the field of blood, as at Marathon, Tours, and Waterloo. And again, they have crossed swords in the more august arena of mental dispute ; in that council chamber of the Greeks, the Areopagus ; among the cloistered scholastics at Pisa and Constance ; and in the latter-day salons of London and Paris. Now one is in the ascendency and then the other becomes the dominating force. The one is charged with reaching out into the transcendental and illusory ; the other with being content in literalism, legalism, and slavery. In- stead of seeking to become the complement, one of the other, in helping to solve the mysteries of life, they stand in complete antithesis, and lead into deeper mystery. The one spirit trusts nothing but the data given by the senses ; the other recognizes something beyond man and his experience. The one is imitative ; the other is creative. One often tends toward scepticism ; the other is the handmaid of belief. One has emanated from the cold, emotionless spirit of Aris- totle ; the other' is the offspring of the impassioned mind of Plato. The one is the Philosophy of Experience ; the other is the Philosophy of Idealism. 248 THE SPEAKER. The modem man of thought, like the hero of Greek mythology, stands in hesitancy at the parting of the ways. Empiricism urges one path. Idealism beckons to the other. Which promises to be the better guide ? Art, literature, and life give us the pictured story. These spirits are contrasted in different races. The Greek genius, in its home of liberty, erects a beautiful temple of Idealism. Eome, with her fine legal instinct, gives the world its laws. In English literature, Celt and Teuton mark anew the con- trast. The Teuton, contributing to Anglo-Saxon civiliza- tion his brawn, his firmness, his shrewd intelligence, his law ; applying with iron hand his straightforward, practical principles, and attempting to reduce even passion and in- spiration to work by rule. Here is Francis Bacon, the embodiment of this spirit of utility. The civilization of Bentham and Cobbett, ay, even that of John Bright and Eichard Cobden, with all its philanthropy, satifies the needs of the body, not of the soul. The Celt touches us with his enthusiasm and devotion to the beautiful, bringing those imaginative wonders, that sense of beauty, mjstery, sadness, and sweetness, that deep melancholy — so human, so human- izing — the rich dower of a race long oppressed, which speaks forth with soulful eloquence from many a storied line of our sweetest poetry. Who is not moved by the legend of King Lear ? The anguish of a Celtic king is not for the terrors of a storm. Thunder and lightning are nothing to him. " The tempest in his mind Doth from his senses talse all feeling else." His agonizing cry, " How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child," moves a wide world to pity. One daughter tenderly cares for that demented monarch, and the ennobled nations re- PRIZE ORATIONS OP PRINCETON COLLEGE. 249 joice together over a Cordelia. Who has not a heart respon- sive to the martial war-songs of the border, and to the story of King Arthur told in the "Tales of the Round Table " ? The Celt has given to England her Morrises and Merediths, Shelley's " Skylark " and Keats's " Nightingale." To the Celt we owe Macbeth as well as Queen Ma,b and Oberon. The men of genius of all nations have embodied their power for influencing succeeding generations in their arts and literature. Their philosophy is Idealism, and they bring from a picture world the thoughts and visions with which they sway mankind. Can inspiration be denied men of genius? No! Call it "reason" with Coleridge, "ima- ginative faith " with Wordsworth, whatever you will, that mysterious something has a real existence, which enables the poet to see and know and tell to other men things which they know not. In art, idealism has been an inspiration. The subtle influence of its spirit carries the artist out of the world of. sense into the realm of deeper reality beyond. Witness Mozart at his instrument, oblivious of the clashing world about him and living in a realm of harmony. See Leo- pardo, working and never tiring, absorbed in that great ideal which he feels he must express. He is painting the scene of the Last Supper upon the walls of that old Milanese monastery, and hundreds of years after, when the work is disfigured by age, almost obliterated by the crumbling of the wall, the spirit of that scene, although so inaccurate in historical detail, shall still endure and move the observer with its wondrous power. " In the old Tuscan town stands Giotto's tower, The lily of Florence blossoming in stone, A vision, a delight, and a desire, The builder's perfect and centennial flower That in the night of ages bloomed alone, But wanting still the glory of a spire." 250 THE SPEAKER. Standing rapt in the presence of such perfection, John Euskin exclaims, " Behold the mirror and model of per- fect architecture ! " Such artists as these found their ma- terial in life and nature, but this they fused into a new- creation in the glow of a personal ideal. If any one of the fine arts has shown the influence of these two philosophies more than others, it has been litera- ture. Here, empiricism becomes realism, and offers life as it is — the exact model. Idealism is here too an inspira- tion. It proclaims the apotheosis of life as the true pur- pose of letters. Assuming a high moral principle, it paints life as it should be. The disciples of this creed may have set before men heights that seem unattainable, they may be heralded as dreamers, but one never contemplates their glimpses of the " sunlight of the beyond " except to be made the better. Here we come upon the deepest and most sacred element in literature ; that element of mystery which limns it with divine light. Hearken, while an ancient poet explains it. Plato says : " The poets tell us that they gather their strains from honeyed fountains out of the gardens and dells of the Muses ; thither like bees they wing their way. * * * in this way the God shows us that these beautiful poems are not human or the work of man, but divine and the work of God, and the poets are the interpreters of the Gods." In every age the history of cultured thought proclaims its philosophy. It is idealism. That which would outlast time must have the eternal spirit breathed into it. The poet who delights and inspires the millions of mankind, penetrates beyond change into the changeless. He feels that " a breath of will blows eternally through the universe of souls in the direction of right." That trade-wind sweeps through the world awakening nature everywhere; bringing spring with all its promise, and bearing with it the blessings of growth and fruit. Witness the record of history. Every great literary epoch has been ushered in PRIZE ORATIONS OP PRINCETON COLLEGE. 261 and its power sustained by idealists. The Muse of history points to every golden age in thought, from the day of Greek inspiration to the time of England's virgin Queen, with one injunction — Follow the ideal. But our modern spirit has almost disregarded this advice. A scientific culture and an utilitarian aim are the moulding influences in all that is modern. And what have they done for our age ? They have given us a material development such as was never known before. But what have they accom- plished for man's inner life ? Grant the materialist his way. Let him shut out the light of heaven with the gloomy prison walls of his gener- alizations. Let him hear with unmoved heart the crying aspirations of his fellow-man. Let him defy heaven with his scepticism and cast his miserable, ill-directed person- ality against the walls of God's eternal truth. Is this all the modern age can offer to mankind ? Is this the result of the searchings of the mind for centuries ? Is this the consummation of the hopes of all the ages ? Or is there an eternal temple of truth beyond personality and race ? Is there something deeper than experience and broader than material environment ? Ah, Science ! you see the limitations of your sphere and would fain not recognize them. But you surpass them, trusting in your own strength, only to be baffled and defeated. Even our great- est conquests have been made with ideality as a guide. Away with those influences which would produce an age devoid of impulse to higher things. Alexander Pope, with his time-serving " whatever is, is right," sounds the key- note of this tendency in letters. And to-day, in much the same spirit, the French realist describes life's cesspools. Does he not know that truth and virtue are just as real in human life as vice and crime, and incomparably nobler and more beautiful ? Better for him, better for his age, that he had learned the lesson which his great countryman taught. Let him see Victor Hugo, discerning even in the 252 THE SPEAKEE. misery and degradation of a Valjean the possibilities of a human soul still shining. The criteria of the modern spirit do not go half way to inculcate the ideas which are indispensable to a full realization of life's best possibili- ties. The forms around us are not perfection. The lives of men, even those which impress us as great and sublime, are far from complete. The "type of perfect in the mind" is an ever-widening circle extended by broadening views and deeper insight. Behold the gifted poets, bards of the soul's changing moods and of the longings of man's inner life, pointing to the one source of their fulfilment ; rendering mighty volun- taries upon the organ of language, with the divine chord sounding in a deep undertone. Here is a Chaucer, " well of English undefiled,'' who gave his countrymen to taste of sweet waters from the fountain-head of romanticism. And here a Spenser, " poet of poets," with gorgeous and bril- liant pageantry, never-fading flowers, cloudless skies ; his "Faerie Queene" moulded after a beauty that is "heavenly born and cannot die." And then the mighty minds of Eng- land's merry sixteenth century catching a glimpse " Of alight that never was on sea or land, The consecration of a poet's dream," and reflecting it in the Elizabethan drama. And then a Milton, mighty and majestic, man of divine inspiration, he of the deep religious conception of the poet's mission. It is only in the sunlight of an idealistic philosophy that lit- erature shines with its truest brightness. Eealism may be that which keeps the arts in touch with their times. Idealism brings them close to the great heart of humanity and imparts that character of universality which is the crucial test of enduring worth. The impor- tance of realism is evident ; but the grandest prerogative of a literature is not to embody the life and spirit of its times, but to transcend these narrow limits, reaching forth into PRIZE OEAtlONS OF tErNCETOK COLLEGE. 253 tlie ideal for sometliing grander and nobler, for something to elevate the age. Exponency is a good thing, exaltation is a grand thing. The river Rhone rushes down from the Swiss mountains a turgid, swollen stream, pouring its dark floods into the placid blue depths of Lake Geneva ; then issues forth, after its rest in the bosom of the lake, a clear stream of beauti- ful blue, like the bright empyrean from which it fell. So pour the floods of life's river into the depths of mighty minds, to reappear, purified by contact with the infinite, in all that is beautiful and noble in art and life and song. REFERENCE LIST OF FORENSIC AND KINDRED SELECTIONS SUITABLE FOR DELIVERY FROM THE ACADEMIC AND THE COLLEGE EOSTEUMS, AND TO BE FOUND IN THE PKINCIPAL COLLECTIONS IN BOOK POEM, WHICH, TOGETHER WITH THE CHIEF ELOCUTIONAET GUIDES, ARE HERE ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED AND REVIEWED. LIST OF ELOCUTIONARY GUIDES AND COLLECTIONS IN THE PRINCETON COLLEGE LIBRARY, ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED ACCORDING TO AUTHORS, AND, FOR THE CONVENIENCE OF THE PRIVATE STUDENT AND COL- LECTOR, WITH NAMES OF PUBLISHERS AND HINTS OF CONTENTS APPENDED. For reference to volumes of unabridged speeches of single orators, such as Boutwell, Bryant, Calhoun, to Webster, Win- throp, etc., see the Library Catalogue. For reference to parlor elocution in pamphlet form, see " Werner's Directory," E. S. Werner, New York. Adams (C. K.): see Johnston. Amman's Dissertation on Speech. Sampson, Low, & Co., London. Methods of teaching speech to deaf-mutes. Anon. (Philadelphia Lawyer). American Oratory. Lippin- cott Co., Phila. Unabridged speeches of great political orators down to 1826. Anon. (Philadelphia Lawyer.) Chatham, Burke, Erskine, and Mackintosh. Fhila., 1884. Anon. (Philadelphia Lawyer.) Irish Elloquence, Philips, Cur- ran, Grattan, Emmett. Phila., 1834. Anon. Art of Improving Voice and Ear. 1825. Second part treats of exercises for improvement of musical ear. Anon. Dramatic Iieaflets. Garrett & Co., Fhila. Anon. Drawing Room Plays. Anon. Elocutionists' Annuals. National School of Oratory, Phila. 257 258 THE SPEAKEK. Anon. Good Readings. Leach, Shewell, & Sanborn, Boston. No speeches. A supplementary reader with long- prose selections.- Anon. Speaker's Garlands. Garrett & Co., Phila. Anon. Standard Recitations. B. Herder, Freiburg, Ger- many, and St. Louis. Like Raby's, q. v. Anon. United States Speaker. Forensic and good. At'well's Epitome of Elocution. Austin's Cbironomia. 1806. The inspiration of most treatises on gesture. Summation of rhetorical prin- ciples from those of the ancients to his own time. Finely illustrated notation of gesture. Bacon's Manual of Gesture. Silver, Burdett, & Co., Boston. Complete, well-marked selections. Index of interpretations. Baker's (G. M.) Speakers and Dialect Recitations, etc. Lee & Shepard, Boston. Bald-virin's Arbor (and Memorial) Day. Harper Bros., New Tork. Banks's Recitations with Lesson Talks. E. S. Werner, Kew York. Barber's Grammar of Elocution. Based on Rush's system. Well-marked examples. Bartlett's Practical Reader. Bautain's Extempore Speaking. Bosworth & Harrison, London. Insists on proper mental habit and arrangement. Bayly's Alliance of Music, Poetry, and Oratory. 1789. Baynham's Select Readings and Recitations. London. Set rules and exercises. Beecher's (H. W.) Oration on Oratory. National School of Oratory, Phila. Bell's (Melville) Emphasized Liturgy. Hamilton, Adams, & Co., London. Bell's (M.) Essays and Postcripts on Elocution. E. S. Werner, New York. Discursive treatment of his previous technical subjects. Bell's (M.) Faults of Speech. E. S. Werner, New Tork. Handy manual. LIST 0¥ ELOCUTIONARY GUIDES, ETC. 259 Bell's Ladies' Reader. Short selections. Principles well tabulated and illustrated. Bell's (M.) Principles of Elocution. E. S. Werner, New York. Thorough and well arranged, both as to principles and selections. Bell's (M.) Principles of Speech and Dictionary of Sounds. E. S. Werner, New York. Bell's (D. C. and M.) Standard Elocutionist. Full principles and wide range of selections. Bell's (M.) Visible Speech. E. S. Werner, New York. Bell's (M.) TWorld English : Lectures on Phonetics ; English Line Writing. Pamphlets on phonetics. Billings's Standard Selections. Inter-State Pub. Co., Chicago. Bingham's Columbian Orator. 1811. Bishop's Outlines of Elocution. Many varied selections, some good. Branch's Hamilton Speaker. Dick & Fitzgerald, New York. Fiery selections, designed for " eflfect." Branch's National Advanced Speaker. Baker & Taylor Co., New York. Very fine. New selections. Branch's National Junior Speaker, Baker & Taylor Co., New York. Short yet not puerile selections. Brandram's Speaker. Eoutledge & Sons, London. Good introductory remarks. Fine dramatic but no forensic selections, Bronson's Elocution. Morton & Co., Louisville, Ky^ Very full. The model of the old-style speaker in classification of principles, selections, cuts, etc, Bronson's Manual of Elocution, Morton & Co., Louisville, Ky. Newer and more convenient than preceding, though similar in style, Brooks's Elocution and Reading, Eldiedge & Bro., Phila. Introductory principles of the old style. Forensic selections. Very fine. Brown's (I. H.) Common School Selections, St. Louis. Brown's (M. T.) Philosophy of Expression. Hougliton, Mif- flin, & Co., Boston. Principles of Delsarte considered in light of scientific research of Darwin and Mantegazza. A standard work. 260 THE SPEAKER. Browne's (Thos.) British Cicero. Phila., 1810. Burke, Fox, Sheridan, et al. Browne and Benke's Voice, Song, and Speech. G. P. Put- nam's Sons, New York. A work by masters. Thorough in physiology and hygiene, yet plain and practical. Browne's Voice Use and Stimulants. Marquis & Co., Chicago. Burbank's Speeches. Dick & Fitzgerald. Burdett's Select Recitations and VSTorld of/Humor. Excel- sior Pub. House. Burgh's Art of Speaking. 1792. Annotated selections with examples of special emotions. Bussey and Read's Newspaper Reader. Blackie & Son, London. English editorials. Butler's Fifth Reader. Butler & Co., Phila. Above the average of Readers. Selections not especially forensic. Butler's Literary Selections. Butler & Co., Phila. Wide range of good selections. Butler's (Noble) Speaker. Morton & Co., Louisville, Ky. Selections short and varied. Old style. Calkin's Bar and Voice Training. Kellogg & Co. , New York. Exercises chiefly in phonetics. Designed for the young. Campbell and Root's Columbian Speaker. Lee & Shepard, Boston. Fiery and patriotic speeches. Carey's Excelsior Selections. Excelsior Pub. House, New York. Parlor elocution. Carpenter's Select American Speeches. Phila., 1815. Much like " American Oratory." Carrington's Patriotic Reader. Lippincott Co., Phila. Fine selections illustrating development of human liberty. Cathcart's Youth's Speaker. American Book Co. New York and Chicago. The prose selections are short sensible speeches. Coates's Comprehensive Speaker. Porter & Coates, Phila. Introduction is a condensation of principles of J. E. Carpenter, London. Sub- stantial speeches. LIST OF ELOCUTIONARY GUIDES, ETC. 261 Cockin's Art of Delivering Written Language. 1775. Cohen's Throat and Voice. I. Blackister, Son, & Co., Phila. From a physician's standpoint. Tliorougli. Coquelin's Actor and His Art. Roberts Bros., Boston. Corson's Elocutionary Manual. Lippincott Co., Phila. Introductory essay on literature and vocal culture. Selections are from Bng. lisii classics. Cull's Public Reading and Garrick's Mode of Reading Lit- urgy. 1840. Cumnock's Choice Readings. McClurg & Co., Chicago. Forensic speeches admirably selected. Cumnock's School Speaker. MoClurg & Co., Chicago. Short selections, but not puerile. Curry's Classics for Vocal Expression. School of Expression, Boston. Many selections, varied in kind and length. Few forensic ones. Dale's Outline of Elocution. J. E. Sherrill, Danville, Ind. Usual selections. Dalton's Evening Amusements. Cassell & Co., New York. Davis and Bridgeman's Brief Declamations. Holt & Co., New York. Handy because of flexible covers. Speeches up to date. Davis's Fourth Reader. Lippincott Co., Phila. Dean's Science of Utterance. Silver, Burdett, & Co., Boston. Progressive exercises, very full and fine. Well-chosen illustrative selections. Delaumosne and Arnoud's Delsarte's System of Oratory. E. S. Werner, New York. Delsartiana, well illustrated. Devere and Carey's Selections. De Witt and Webster's Recitations. De Witt Pub. Co., New York. Dick's Recitations. Dick & Fitzgerald. These, like the foregoing, are bound pamphlets of parlor elocution. Diehl : see Randall-Diehl. Durant's Hygiene of the Voice. Cassell & Co., New York. From standpoints of both physician and singers — good. Duval's Artistic Anatomy. Cassell & Co., New York. Fundamental to gesture. Well illustrated. 262 THE SPEAKER. Dwyer's Essay on Elocution. W. C. Little, Albany, N.T. Eaton's Original Readings and Recitations. London. Emerson's Evolution of Expression. O. F. Huff, Boston. Introduction explains reference of eacli selection to principle to be illustrated. Enfield's Speaker. 1801. Ewing (Thos.). Principles of Elocution. 1828 and 1857. Latter a revised edition by Calvert. Fobes's Elocution Simplified. A condensation of the principles of the great masters. Fobes's Five-Minute Declamations. Lee & Shepard, Boston. Perfectly adapted to its purpose. All selections first-class. Fowles's Free Speaker. Hall & Whiting, Boston. Fine forensic speeches. Freeman's Speech Formation as a Basis for True Spelling. Trijbner & Co., London. Frobisher's (J. E.) Acting and Oratory, College of Oratory and Acting, New York. Discursive. Intended for teachers. Frobisher's Voice and Action. American Book Co., New York and Chicago. Full of exercises and explanations very carefully and clearly given. Selec- tions elocutionary rattier than forensic. Fulton and Trueblood's Choice Readings. Ginn & Co., Boston. Very complete along forensic as well as elocutionary lines. Wide range. Com- plete lists of good readings from Shakspeare and the Bible (q. v. in the follow- ing list). G-ardener's Music of Nature. 1838. Proof that passion in human expression comes directly from nature. Oratory, rhythm, etc., treated from musical standpoint. Goodrich's Fifth Reader. Morton & Co., Louisville, Ky. G-oodrich's Sixth Reader. Morton & Co., Louisville, Ky. Old style. Graham's Principles of Elocution. Good marked selections of pulpit, and ancient and modern oratory. Graham's Reasonable Elocution. American Book Co., New York and Chicago. Well illustrated. Many selections. LIST OF ELOCUTIONARY GUIDES, ETC. 263 GrifBth's Class Book of Oratory. Christian Pub. Co., St. Louis. Compilation of usual elocutionary principles and selections. Gummere'B Elocution. Phila., 1857. Based on Rush's system. Selections. Guttman's Gymnastics of the Voice. E. S. Werner, New York. Authority on vocal culture. Well illustrated. Practice of head, necl£, trunk, arms; voice production in singing and speaking ; articulation; respiration. Hall's Reader's Guide. 1848. Hamilton's Collection of Parodies. Beeves & Turner, London. Imitations of the popular poems of modern American and English poets. Harrell and Neathery's North Carolina Speaker. Williams & Co., Raleigh, N.C. Some good local speeches. Hazlitt's Eloquence of British Senate. Brooklyn, 1810. Fuller than Browne. Begins with reign of Charles I. Helmore's Speakers, Singers, and Stammerers. J. Masters & Co., London. Finely illustrated in colors. Hillard's Sixth Reader. American Book Co. Introduction by Mark Bailey. Good forensic selections in old style. Holmes's Miscellaneous Readings and Recitations. National School of Elocution and Oratory, Phila. Parlor elocution of the showy sort. Holmes's Voice Production and Presentation. Worthington, New York. Excellent in anatomy and hygiene. Holyoke's Hints on Public Speaking. Didactic HoTvard's Canadian Elocutionist. Rose Pub. Co., Toronto. Olji-style introduction. Diversified selections. Hudson's Classical Reader. Grinn & Co., Boston. English classics of oratory as well as of essays and poetry. Hunt's Stammering. 1865. A practical modernization of the principles of Thelwall. Huntoon's American Speaker. Morton & Co., Louisville. Pamphlet style of selections, better than ordinary. 264 THE SPEAKER. Hyde's Natural System of Elocution and Oratory. Fowler cfe Wells Co., New York. Theoretical, yet suggestive. Baseij on phrenological study of physiognomy, Isbister's Outlines of Elocution for Boys. Longmans, Green, & Co., London. James's Southern Selections. Lathrop & Wilkins, New Orleans. Sectional speeches. Very fine. Johnston's and Adams's American and British Orations. Putnam, New York. Admirably selected with a view to illustrate American and English political history. Kidd's New Elocution and Vocal Culture. American Book Co. A successful teacher. Forensic selections well made. Kidd's Rhetorical Reader. American Book Co. Selections made for natural forms of elocution rather than for set oratory. King's Practice of Speech. Pittsburg, Pa. Well illustrated. Principles rather than rules insisted upon, Kirby's Voice and Action Language. Lee & Shepard, Boston. Good condensation of principles of Bell, Delaumosne, Guttman, Eush, et al. Kirkham's Elocution. Kirklaud's Patriotic Eloquence. Scribner's Sons, New York. Many forensic speeches. Kitchen's Diaphragm. E. S. Werner, New York. Monograph, well illustrated, of the hygiene as well as physiology of the subject. Kofler's Art of Breathing as a Basis of Tone Production. New York. Langbridge's What to Read at Entertainments. Religious Tract Society, London. Selections from Dickens, Scott, etc. Lawrence's Model Speaker. Eldredge & Bro., Phila. Much like Brooks's Elocution (q. v.). Leffingwell's English Classics. Putnam's Sons, New York. Varied dippings into the best literature. Legouve's Art of Reading. Alger's Translation. Roberts Bros., Boston. Roth's Translation. Claxton, Remsen, & Haeffelfinger, Phila. Colloquial and practical, interesting in matter and charming in style. Lewis's (Dio) New Gymnastics. Canfield Pub. Co., New York. Well illustrated. Exercises preparatory to specific training. LIST OF ELOCUTIONARY GUIDES, ETC. 266 Lovell's Dialogues. Collins & Bro., New York. MacGill's Pantomimes. Gushing & Co., Boston. Wordless poems with accompanying musical scores. Illustrated emotive gestures. Macintosh's "White Sunlight of Potent "Words. National School of Elocution, Phila. MandeviUe's Elements of Reading and Oratory. American Book Co. Work of a student — the founder of a school of college oratory, the Hamilton. Marshall's Book of Oratory. Mason's Salvini's Othello. Putnam's Sons, New Tork. Monograph. Massey's Exhibition Reciter. McDermott's Source of Pleasures Derived from Tragic Representations. 1824. McDougall's Classical Elocutionist. Brentano's, New York. Poetry largely— standard. McEUigott's American Debater. American Book Co. McG-uffey's Sixth Reader. American Book Co. Complete school reader containing some, not many, good speeches. McGuffey's Speaker. American Book Co. Remedies the deficiency of the foregoing. Mcllvaine's Elocution. Scribner's Sons, New York. From a rhetorical standpoint. Millard's Grammar of Elocution. Longmans, Green, & Co., London. Its main emphasis on articulation. Miscellaneous School Readers. Mitchell's Manual of Elocution. Eldredge & Bro., Phila. Selections well arranged to illustrate vocal qualities, etc. Monroe's Public Readings. Lee & Shepard, Boston. Monroe's Sixth Reader. E. H. Butler & Co., Phila. In the customary form of general practical suggestions with short examples. Monroe's Vocal Gymnastics. E. H. Butler & Co., Phila. Because of cuts and illustrative selections, popular and interesting to younger persons especially. "Very thorough, however. Monroe's "SToung Folks' Readings. Lee & Shepard, Boston. 266 THE SPBAKEK. Morgan's Hour with Delsarte. E. S. Werner, New York. Finely illustrated. Simple and practical. Delsarte's principlea naturally and plainly presented. Murdoch's Elementary Elocution. Boston, 1845. First edition of " Vocal Culture." Fine plates. Murdoch's Analytic Elocution. American Book Co. The work of a master. Development of Rush's system. Murdoch's Flea for Spoken Language. American Book Co. Discussions rather than lessons. Critiques of old treatises on elocution by Wright, Sheridan, Steele, Rush, Barber, and Hill. Murdoch and Russell's Vocal Culture. Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., Boston. Modernization of Murdoch's system. Many examples. Murray's Elocution for Advanced Pupils. G. P. Putnam's Sons, New York. A book of suggestions especially concerning commencement oratory. Illustra- tion by use of various kinds of type. Normal Course in Reading. Fifth Reader. Silver, Burdett, & Co., Boston. Excellent directions for reading aloud. Northend's National Orator. American Book Co. Part II. is of prose selections. Short and standard speeches. O'Grady's Select Recitations. Benziger Bros. , New York. A Roman Catholic reader. Largely poetical, pathetic, and heroic. Oxford's Junior Speaker. Butler & Co., Philadelphia. Oxford's Senior Speaker. Butler & Co., Philadelphia. Full of speeches very well selected. Farker's (E.) Golden Age of American Oratory. Boston, 1857. Enthusiastic studies of Clay, Webster, and contemporaries. Farker's Order of Examples in Elocution. Chicago. Handy book with convenient blank pages for notes. Thorough and progressive exercises with good use of charts and tables. Farker and Zachos' Reading and Elocution. American Book Co. Thorough. Well-marked selections. Feabody's American Fatriotism. American Book Exchange, New York. Introduction treats of calisthenics, vocal culture, gesture, and the kindred prin- ciples of rhetoric. Follows Rush, Bell, Murdoch, etc. Selections well chosen for young folks. LIST OP ELOCTJTIONARY GUIDES, ETC. 267 Plumptre's King's College Lectures on Elocution. Triibner & Co., London. Popular; English in its thoroughness and scholarly tone. Porter's Rhetorical Delivery. Gould & Newman, Andover, Mass. Specially applicable to pulpit oratory. Potter's (Mrs. James Bro^wn) Recitations. Lippincott Co., Phila. " 'Ostler Joe " et al. Potter's (H. L. D.) Manual of Reading. Harper Bros., New York. Full in principles, well tabulated. Prather's "Winning Orations. C. E. Prather, Sharon Springs, Eans. Prize orations of recent Western college contests. Prescott's Recitations. DeWitt Pub. Co., New York. Usual pamphlet selections. Putnam's Elocution in Oratory. Raby's Select Reading. Herder, St. Louis; Freiburg, Germany. English classics — world-wide in reputation. Randall's Reading and Elocution. American Book Co. Dramatic in character. Randall-Diehl's Elocutionary Studies. E. S. Werner, New York. New and good selections with full analysis of each. Raymond's Orator's Manual. Silver, Burdett, & Co., Boston. The book of which Part I. of the present work is a condensation. Remlap's Select Readings. G. A. Gaskell Co., Chicago. A few good speeches among much parlor elocution. Rice's Introduction to Art of Reading. 1765. Insists on radical distinction between principles underlying speech and song, and on information, rather than imitation, in reading. Riddle's Readings. W. H. Baker & Co., Boston. Ross's Voice Culture and Elocution. New York. New and good. Russell: see Murdoch. Russell's Pulpit Elocution. Draper, Andover, Mass. Follows Rush and Murdoch, with special application to pulpit elocution. Ex- amples for hymn reading, etc. 268 THE SPEAKER. Salisbury's Phonology and Orthoepy. Park & Co., Madison, Wis. Complete, especially in diagrams. See page 22 for table of English sounds. Well arranged for class work. Sargent and May's Etymological Reader. Butler & Co., Phila. Newness shown in excellent notes to selections. Full tables of roots. Sargent's Intermediate Standard Speaker. Chas. DeSilver & Sons, Phila. Usual introduction ; forensic selections well classified. Schemerhorn's Outlines of Elocution. Simple and practical. Settle and Esterbrook. Young Elocutionist. Bancroft & Co., San Francisco. Shaftesbury's Lessons in Acting. Martyn College Press, Wasliington, D.C. Full in treatment of gesture and attitude. Stage rules, setting, business, etc., well illustrated. Shaftesbury's Lessons in Artistic Deep Breathing. Martyn College Press, Washington, D.C. Intended for teachers, self-instruction, invalids. Progressive drills by days and weeks. Shaftesbury's Lessons in Emphasis. Martyn College Press, Washington, D.C. Laws and principles. Insists on thoroughness of practice. Shaftesbury's Lessons in Extempore Speaking. Martyn Col- lege Press, Washington, D.C. Progressive exercises for acquiring vocabulary, strengthening the memory, and creating thought. Formation of oratorical habits. A year's course in conversa- tion. Shaftesbury's Lessons in Facial Expression. Martyn College Press, Washington, D.C. Well illustrated as to facial expression, impersonation, etc. Meanings of each expression, and manner of producing same, well explained. Shaftesbury's Lessons in Grace. Martyn College Press, Wash- ington, D.C. Progressive exercises elaborately explained. Shaftesbury's Lessons in Personal Magnetism. Martyn Col- lege Press, Washington, D.C. LIST OF ELOCUTIONARY GUIDES, ETC. 269 Shaftesbury's Lessons in Voice Culture. Martyn College Press, Washington, D.C. Progressive in order of treatment, fr9m practice of position of vocal organs to the development of timbre. Shedd : see Theremin. Sheldon's Fifth Reader. American Book Co. The few forensic selections very good. Fine in descriptive selections. Sheridan's British Education. 1769. Specially intended to reform teaching of language and oratory by a return to early models. Sheridan's Lectures on the Art of Reading. 1775. Two parts, on prose and verse respectively. It insists on articulation, modula- tion, etc. Second part, a textbook on metre. Shoemaker's Practical Elocution. Penn Pub. Co., Phila. Progresses from conversation through principles of elocution to general sug- gestions. Examples. Siddons's Practical Illustrations of Rhetorical Gesture and Action Adapted to the English Drama. 1822. Many fine engravings of emotive gesture. Skinner's Arbor Day Manual. Weed, Parsons, & Co., Albany, N.Y. Southwick's Primer of Elocution and Action. E. S. Werner, New York. Simple yet complete. Progressive exercises well Illustrated especially in pan- tomime. Spurzheim's Physiognomy. 1833. Many illustrations of historical characters. Stanton's Physiognomy. Author, San Francisco. Well illus- trated. Pseudo-scientific. Stebbins's Delsarte's System of Expression. E. S. Werner, New York. Delsarte's Address before the Philotechnic Society of Paris. Examples in Decomposition, Poise, Posture, Gesture, Pantomime, Voice. The emotive ex- pressions are tabulated. Stebbins's Society Gymnastics. E. S. Werner, New York. Relaxing and energizing exercises. Scores for piano accompaniment. Steele's Melody and its Expression by Symbols. 1775. Insists on slide rather than scale as basic principle. Elocutionary score given, Stoddard's Readings and Recitations. Bedford, Clarke, & Co., Chicago. Rather long selections from great writers. 270 THE SPEAKER. S-vireet's Practical Elocution. Principles looked at from a forensic standpoint. S-wett's Common School Readings. Hopkins, New York. Short selections, many are good speeches. Swett's School Elocution. American Book Co. Part I. Orthophony. Part II. Inflection. Copious examples. Selections marked in old-fashioned way. Thelwall's Treatment of Impediments of Speech. 1810. Traces them to mental and moral rather then physical causes, and to results of imitation rather than inheritance. Insists on practice of elocution as best cure. Theremin's Eloquence a Virtue. Diaper, Andover, iVIass. A rhetoi'ic from oratorical side. ThTving's Drill Book in Vocal Culture. American Book Co. Explanation of methods with exercises. Todd-Fo'well. Fifth Reader. (See Normal Course in Reading.) TurnbuU's Pulpit Orators of France and S'witzerland. New York, 1848. Sketches of Bossuet, Vinet, et. al., with examples of their eloquence. Twistleton's Tongue not Essential to Speech. Jolin Mur- ray, London. Vandenhoff's Art of Elocution. Sampson, Low, & Co., London. Articulation, etc., well illustrated in usual manner. Marked selections. Venable's Amateur Actor. American Book Co. Practical suggestions as to stage management, etc. Venable's Dramatic Scenes. American Book Co. Higher class than preceding selections. Venable's School Stage. American Book Co. Walker's Elements of Elocution. 1810. By author of Pronouncing Dictionary and hence very minute in study of pause, emphasis, and inflection. All varieties of structure fully illustrated by examples and plates, with special discussion of the various emotions. Warmon's School-Room Friend. W. H. Harrison, Chicago. Suggestions rather than treatise. Warner's Book of Eloquence. Lee & Shepard, Boston. Prose selections all good, and of convenient length. Watson's Independent Fifth Reader. American Book Co. Introduction treats fully of orthoepy. Weaver's System of Elocution. Selections well marked to illustrate his principles. LIST OP ELOCUTIONARY GUIDES, ETC. 271 Webb's New Reciter, Reader, and Orator. London. Webster : see De Witt. Werner's Directory. E. S. Werner, New York. Invaluable. See preface to this book. Werner's Readings and Recitations. E. S. Werner, New York. High class of parlor elocution. Welles' Orators' Guide. Philadelphia, 1822. Williston's Eloquence of the United States. Middletown, Conn., 1827. (See " American Oratory.") Wilbur's Delsarte Recitation Book. E. S. Werner, New York. Selections for parlor elocution, with full explanation of each, interspersed with principles quoted from Delsarte. Wiley's Elocution and Oratory. Wilkes' View of the Stage. 17—. Deals specifically with Art of Acting, Actor's Deportment, Voice, Emotion, etc Zachos' New American Speaker. Collins & Bro., New York. First division, of earnest forensic speeches. Latter division, of dramatic and descriptive selections. Many Shakspearian soliloquies and dialogues. ADDENDUM. Rush's Philosophy of the Human Voice. Lippincott, Phila. Physiological. Contains principles for elocutionary criticism and a brief analysis of song and recitative. The book that laid the foundation for all subse- quent systems of vocal culture. LIST OF SPEECHES, Arranged by authors, to be found in books of the preceding list, indicated here by abbreviations; thus, Br., A., 128, means. Branch's Advanced Speaker, page 128. Abbott, Lyman. Ultimate America. Br., A., 128. Adams, C. P. Example of Washington. Br., A., 265. Lafayette. Hill. 350. Adams, Samuel. In Favor of American Independence. Ox., S., 247. Necessity for Independence. Dav., 250. Addison, James. Immortality of the Soul. Bron., E., 238. Alford, J. H. The Tongue. Har., 164. Allen, D. C. Suit for Slander. Jam., 400. Allen. Capture of Ticonderoga. Ox., S., 229. Ames, Fisher. British Treaty. Anon., A., 94. Zach., 73. Mobocracy. But. (N.), 188. Obligation of Treaties. But. (N.), 35 and 55. Patriotism. Dav. Reader, 305. Public Faith. Bron. E., 309. Western Posts. Hill., 180. Anon. Aaron Burr. McG., 59. Address to Independence. Weav., 164. American Civilization. Cath., Y., 40. Battle of Chalons. Br., J., 118. Battlefield, A. Bron., E., 242. Beauties of Nature. Cath., Y., 44. Boy Crusaders, The. Sar., 124. Brougham and Canning. Zach., 217. Character is Power. Br., J., 87. Cicero. Br., J., 131. Claims of Italy. Gr., 106. Condemnation of Socrates. Ox., S., 171. Contrast. A. Br., J., 63. Cure for Hard Times. Br., A., 285. 273 274 THE SPBAKBK. Anon, (continued). Damascus. Br., J. Defiance, The. McG., 224. Development of American Industry. Cath., Y., 18. Discipline. Gr., 124. Doestick's Oration. But. (N.), 279. Drunkards not all Brutes. Kidd, 175. Dying Soldier, The. McG., 24.5. Earnestness. Cath., Y., 51. Education. Cath., Y., 31. Eloquence. McG., 46. Cath., Y., 33. Emergency a Hero Maker. Br., J., 114. Evils of War. McG., 242. Fathers of the Republic. Cath., Y., 34. Foxes' Tales, The. Cum., 467. Free Discussion. Bron., E., 256. Fuss at Fires. But. (N.), 74. Garfield. Br., J., 138. Georgia Sermon, A. Cum., 454. God in Nature. Bron., E., 276. Goodness of God. Bron., E., 256. Great West, The. Cath., Y., 32, 55. Hard Times. But. (N.), 281. Henry Hudson. Sar., 331. Human Brain, The. Br. (A.), 180. Indian Oration. Bron., E., 292. Indians, The. Br., J., 91. Individual Character. Sar., 262. Integrity. Cath., Y., 45. "Jiners, The." Cum., S., 127. Liberty in Our Own Keeping. McG., 386. Life-boat, The. Gr., 300. Life of -a Drunkard. Bron., E., 253. Maternity. Bron., E., 303. Midnight Murder, A. But. (N.), 210. Military Despotism and Insubordination. Bron., E., 281. Music. Br., A., 190. Office Seeker's Platform, The. Cam., 57. Orator Climax. McG., 325. Our Flag. Br., J., 154. Peace and War. Bron,, E., 257. Perfect Orator. Bron., E., 279. Zach., 92. Permanence of the Useful. Br., J., 133. LIST OP SPEECHES. 276 Anon, (continued). Persistence of Force. Br., A., 108. Physicctl Education. Bron., E., 284. Pilgrim Mothers. But. (N.), 267. Pleafor Brevity, A. Ox., S., 122. Power of the Orator. But. (N)., 268. Press On. Blon., E., 246. Progress of Government. Bron., E., 290. Prospects of the Cherokees. McG-., VI., 100. Public Schools the Life of the Nation. Sw., 124. Quack, The. McG., 403. Recitations Instead of Theatres. Bron., E., 254. Remembrance of the Good. McG., 263. Eesurrection. Bron. E., 294. Scotland. McG., 414. Sea Serpent, The. But. (N.), 26. Setiing a Hen. Cum., S., 50. Seminole, The. McG., 225. Ship of Faith. Cum., S., 148. South, The. Cath., Y., 20. Spirit of Freedom. Catli., T., 37. Spirit of Peace. McG., 482. Story and Speech of Logan, The. Nor., 217. Stowaway, The. Cum., S., 39. Stream of Life, The. Bron., E., 296. Temperance Drink, The. Gr., 95. Thrilling Incident. Gr., 305. Touching Relic of Pompeii. Kidd, 178. Trenton's Cheer to the Calliope, The. Dav., 251. True Honor of a Nation. McG., 53. Unexpected Son, The. Cum., S., 266. Valedictory. Cath., Y., 13, 26. Voyage of Life. But. (N.), 211. War. Good., 382, 417. War and the Christian. McG., 246. Webster's First Plea. Kidd, 152. What has America Done ? McG., 259. Woman. Bron., E., 295. Arlington. Prisoner's Defence, The. Nor., 184. Arrington, A. W. Water. Bro., 151. Athenaeum (The London). Peace and War. Hill., 1. Atlas (The London). Tact and Talent. Bro., 203. Atterbury, Francis. Appeal to House of Lords. Hud., 179. 276 THE SPEAKER. Avery, "W. "W. State Pride. Har., 106. Bachman, N. L. F. Prentiss's First Plea. Br., A., 126. Bagby, G. W. How to make a True Virginian. Jam., 119. Baker, E. D. Freedom. Sw., 40. How to Crush the Rebellion. Sw., 67. Liberty and Slavery. Sw., 57. Our Country. Sw., 22. Progress of Freedom. Sw., 96. We Must Fight. Sw., 75. Bancroft, E. A. Loneliness of Genius, The. Prather. Bancroft, Geo. Abraham Lincoln. Sw., 31. Boston Massacre. Good., 358. Bunker Hill. Hill., 173. Cherokees, The. Good., 518. God in History. Sw., 111. Growth of American Republic. Sw., 78. Jackson. But. (N.), 317. Nullification. But. (N.), 229. Palmerston and Lincoln. Sw., 107. Revolutionary Alarm. Br., A., 283. But., 156. Dav., 181, Gr., 120. Hun., 89. Washington. Hud., 46. Barber, J. A. Mahometism and its Enemies. Prather. Barbour, B, J. Clay and Calhoun. Jam., 368. Barbour, James. Slaves of Madison at his Grave. Jam., 53. Barnes, S. G. Plagiarism. Prather. Barr^, Col. America's Obligations to England. Hun., 29. McG., 423. Barrovsr, Isaac. Charity. Hud., 255. Bascom, H. B. The Cross. But. (N.), 88. McG., 150. Bateman, Newman. Address to Graduates. Gr., 292. Education and Patriotism. Gr., 166. Moral Rectitude. Sw., 173. Submissio7i to Law. Gr., 155. Battle, K. P. Burning of Capitol at Raleigh. Jam., 270. Bayard, J. A. Judiciary Act. Anon. (A.), 182. Bayne, Peter. Napoleon in Italy. Br., A., 279. Napoleon's Russian Campaign. Br., A., 259. Beaconsfield; sec Disraeli. Beeoher, H. "W. American Flag. Cath., 79. Autumn. Hill., 74. Christian Basis of Liberty. Zach., 56. Corrupters of Youth. But. (N.), 225. LIST OP SPEECHES. 277 Beecher, H. W. (continued). Cynic, The. Be., 77. Death of Lincoln. Law., 145. Demagogue, The. Kidd., 181. England Against War. Gr., 97. Fatal Effects of Slavery. Br., A., 35. Gambling. But. (N.), 228. Honored Dead, The. Sw., 77. Invisible Heroes. Day., 243. Loss of the Arctic. Bro., 270. Hun., 92. Memory of our Fathers. McG. VI., 265. Pen and Tongue. Bro., 179. Purity of Character. Cath., Y., 49. Stratford on Avon. Bron., M., 235. Unprincipled Politician. Nor., 205. Warwick Castle. Bron., M., 233. Beecher, Iiymau. (For some speeches, probably, see under Beecher, H. W.) Intemperance. But. (N.), 188. Br., A., 240. McG., 141. National Morality. But. (N.), 307. McG., 146. Zach., 79. Warning to the Young. But. (N.), 182. Beecher, T K. Brother Anderson's Sermon. Cum., S., 24. Compulsory Education. Ox., S., 34. Bellow^s, H. 'W. Stability of American Democracy. Br., A., 263. Belsham Death of Chatham. Hill., 101. Beltzhoover, F. E. Spirit of Inquiry. Br., A., 28. Bender, V. E. Schiller and Germany. Prather. Benton, Thos. H. The Expunging Resolutions. Jam., 331. Berkeley, Geo. Against Inordinate Speculation. Ox., S., 160. Thoughts in Westminster School. Hud., 7. Beveridge, A. J. Conflict of Labor and Capital. Prather. Bible. (See list of appropriate readings in Fulton and Trueblood's Choice Readings.) Bingham. The Constitution. Cath., T., 55. Blaine, J. G. Garfield. Bro., 307. Dav., 187. Grant. Br., A., 215. Blair, A. L. Aaron Burr. Br., A., 22. Balance of Happiness. Bron., E., 239. Blaisdell, J. A. Miot and Bevolution. Prather. Bledsoe, A. T. The Sun's Bays. Jam., 195. Blount, W. H. A Glorious Day. Har., 144. Blunt, N. B. Washington's Birthday. But. (N.), 169. 278 THE SPEAKEK. Booth, Nevrton. Love of Country. Sw., 189. Bossuet. Euloglum on St. Paul. Ful., 236. Boutwell, Geo, See collected speeches. The Workingman. Cath., Y., 23. Branch, O. E. Decoration Day. Br., A., 92, 178. Earnestness. Br., J., 35. Good Character. Br., A., 164. Grant. Br., A., 201, 219. Breckenridge, J C. Removal of United States Senate to its New Hall. Jam., 114. Breckenridge, R. J. Kentucky. Jam., 170> Breckenridge, W. C. P. Good Faith of the South. Jam., 20. Old Dominion, The. Jam., 203. Bright, John. See collected speeches. Appeal to the People. Dav., 19. England's Foreign Policy. Br., A., 50. Moral Law for Nations. Br., A., 223. Strength of the American Government. Law., 275. Sympathy with the Northern States. Ca., 43. Brooks, Edw. New Year's Address. Bro., 295. Brooks, N. C. Bible and the Classics. Jam., 346. Brooks, Phillips. Charm of Incompleteness. Br., A., 196. Heroic Bravery. Br., A., 172. Brougham. English Slavery. Ox., S., 297. Master and Conqueror. Cath., Y., 6. Reform Bill. Ox., S., 352. Schoolmaster Abroad. But. (N.), 222. Bro., 214. Ox., 416. Brown, F. B. The Psalms. Br., J., 83. Brown, H. A. Last Struggle for Liberty. Br., A., 191. Brown, T. C. Second War with England. Ox., S., 226. Brow^ning, Rob't. Herve Riel. Kidd, 407. Ride from Ghent to Aix. McG., 355. Brownson. Free Speech and Liberty. Cam., 61. Brum, J. D. Address to White League. Jam., 138. Bryan, G. M. Babe of the Alamo, The. Jam., 41. Unity of Texas. Jam., 287. Bryan, G. S. Burns. Jam., 153. Bryan, J. H. Enduring Possessions. Har., 150. Bryan, J. P. K. Marion. Jam., 75. Progress in Physical Science. Jam., 240. Bryant : see collected speeches and poems. Buckminster. Faith to the Afflicted. But. (N.), 19. Bullock, "W. P. Common Schools. But. (N.), 69. LIST OF SPEECHES. 279 Bulwer ; see Lytton. Burke, Edm. See collected speeches. Against Arbitrary Rule. Kidd, R., 248.. American Revolution. Sar., 197. Arraignment of Ministers. Ful., 318. British Rule in India. Hud., 307. Death of his Son. Hud., 177. Faithful Public Course, A. Ca., 53. Fox. Hud., 388. Freedom the Cure of Anarchy. Br., A., 115. Hyder AH. McG!, 474. Impeachment of Hastings. Cum., 254. Ful., 242. Hun., 61. Hud., 174. Kidd, 281. Cur., 112, 144. King of England. Br., A., 205. Magnanimity in Politics. Ox., S., 135. Ministerial Perversity. Hud., 384. Parliament and the People. Hud., 386. Probert in Wales. Br., A., 117. Queen of France. Cath., Y., 4. Da v., 249. Bro., 253. Hud., 382. McG., 129. Revolution in Poland. Hud., 57. Right to 2'ax America. Bron., E., 373. Lef.,247. McG., 425. Zach., 74. Sympathies with Justice. Hud., 310. Wisdom Dearly Purchased. Ful, 277. Hud., 55. Burlingam, A. The Backwoodsman. But. (N. ), 12. Burnet, D. G. Eulogy of Wharton. Jam., 318. Burritt, E. Death of Lincoln. Cath., Y., 27. Busbee, C. M. Benefits of the Civil War. Har., 190. Bushnell. International Law. Good, 513. Loyalty. Sw., 89. Public School Education. Sw., 123. Butler, C. M. Death of Clay. But. (N.), 60. Byron, Lord. (See also his poems.) Amer. Republic. McG., 159. Greece. McG., 212. Marathon. McG., 209. Mazeppa. McG., 345. Scene after a Battle. McG., 164. Suppression of a Mob. McG., 466. Xerxes. McG., 213. Cable, G. W. Theory and Practice in Gov't. Br., A., 262. Calhoun, J. C. See collected speeches. " Force Bill," The. But. (N.), 169. 280 THE SPEAKER. Calhoun, J. C. (continued). Hatred to England. But., 202. Increase of Army. Anon. (A.), 268. Liberty the Meed of Intelligence. Kidd, 308. Necessity of Government. Br., A., 6. Bro., 160. Peace our Policy. Ox.. S., 364. Politics and Metaphysics. Ox., S., 267. Campbell, Thos. (See also his poems.) Greek War Song. McG., 309. Campbell (Lord) : see collected speeches. Canning. See collected speeches. Philosophy of Virtue. McG., 298. Carlyle, Thos. Appearance and Reality. Good., 487. Await the Issue. Lef., 278. Burns. Hud., 377. Death of Marat. Br., A., 245. Execution of Cor day. Br., A., 8. Execution of Banton. Br., A., 76. Execution of Marie Antoinette. Bro., 192. Honor to Labor. Ox., S., 404. Justice. McG., 152. Ox., S., 402. Mahomet. Br., A., 208. Nature admits no Lie. Hun., 51. Kldd, 304. Puritanism. Br., J., 57. Sacredness of Work. Da v., 183. Self -Sacrifice. Br., J., 101. Shakspeare. Hud., 166. Signs of the Times. Sar., 232. Trial of Marie Antoinette. Br., A., 278. Victory of Truth. Cur., 117. Carpenter, G. T. Education. Gr., 299. Carter, F. Beverence. Dav., 224. Cass, Lewis. Eloquence. Kidd, 267. Castelar, Emilio. Lincoln. Dav., 220. Caudle : see Jerrold. Chalmers, Thos. Live for Something. But. (N.), 175. Miseries of War. Kidd, 315. McG., 244. Ox., S., 209. Zach., 45, 103. Unbeliever, The. Law., 280. Channing, W. B. Atheism. Good. , 366. Beauty. Bron., M., 182. Bro., 294. Bonaparte. Bac, 214. Br., A., 166. Hard Work. Sw., 204. LIST OP SPEECHES. 281 Channing, W. E. (continued). Love of Political Power. Cam., 9. No Peace without Union. Sar., 387. Present Age, The. Cath., Y., 52. McG., 373. Progress of Society. Hill., 131. True Greatness. Hill., 339. Kidd., R., 109. Chapin, E. H. Dead on Field of Honor. Sw., 43. Heroes and Martyrs. Law., 278. Labor. But. (N.), 198. Profanity. Bron., M., 228. Reform. McG., 293. Charlton, R. M. Washington and Clay. But. (N.), 242. Chateaubriand. Mysteries of Life. Da v., 69. Chatham, Lord. Against the American War. Bron., E., 243. But. <]Sr.), 183. Hill., 97. Kidd, 297. Law., 205. But., 328. Lefe., 294. McG., VI., 401, 319. Ox., S., 305. Against the Stamp Act. Ful., 238. McG., 98. British Blundering in America. Hud., 190. Burgoyne's Surrender. Ox., S., 309. Hillsborough, Reply to. Zaeh., 87. Horrors of Savage Warfare. Dav., 127. Ful., 262. Zach., 148. Last Speech. Ox., S., 49. On an Address to the King. McG., 101. Reconciliation with America. McG., 99. Ox., S., 178. Repeal claimed as a Right. Ox., S., 181. Reply to Walpole. Dav., 127. Ful., 262. Bro., 283. Kidd, 313. McG., VI., 114. Slave Trade. Ox., S., 375. Cheever, G. B. Avalanches on the Jungfrau. Bro., 168. Child, Lydia M. Suj^posed Speech of Otis. Hun., 23. Choate, J. H. Oitr Debt to the Pilgrims. Br., J., 109. Choate, Rufus. See collected speeches. American Nationality. Hill., 307. Hatred to England. But. (N.), 185. McG., 465. Spartans and the Pilgrims, The. But. (N.), 305. Dav., 148. Webster. Hud., 356. Law., 211. Cicero, M. T. Against Antony. Ox., S., 333. Against Catiline. Law., 207. McG., 48, 51. Ox., S., 106. Zach., 164. Against Verres. Bron., E., 308. Kidd, 280. McG., 190. Zach., 163. For Mllo. Zach., 47. Panegyric on Caesar. Ful., 230. 282 THE SPEAKEE. Claiborne, J. T. H. South claims Us Bights under Constitution. Jam., 268. Sentiments of the South in 1860. Jam., 398. Clark, Bishop. Responsibility of Young Men. Law., 339. Clay, Henry. Ambition of a Statesman. Bro., 326. But., 205. Ful., 298. McG., 260. Address to La Fayette. Lef., 375. Disunion and War Inseparable. But. (N.), 123. Nor., 188. Ox., S., 328. Famine in Ireland. But. (N.), 62. Military Supremacy Dangerous to Liberty. Bro., 265. But. (K), 137. National Glory. Bron., E., 241. Bro., 337. McG., 382. Noblest PubUc Virtue. Dav., 194. Kidd, 283. Law., 169. McG., 275. Ox., S., 215. We., 90. Party Spirit. McG., 464. Union, The. McG., 160. War loith England. But. (N.), 50. Clemens, S. L. (Mark Twain). (See his works, sketches, etc.) The Coyote. Dav., 24. Cleveland, Grover. The People of the United States. Dav., 170. Clinton: see collected speeches. Cobb, Col. Indian Speech. Nor., 154. Cobbett, Wm. 2%e Laboring Classes. Hud., 408. Cobden, Wm. See collected speeches. The American Navy. McG., 452. National Arma)nents. Ox., S., 69. Cocke, W. A. Religion the Life of a Nation. Jam., 304. Co£Bn, C. P. The Philosophy of Scepticism. Prather. Coke, R. Veto of International Railroad Bill. Jam., 391. Coleridge, S. T. Mont Blanc. McG., 370. (See also his poems. ) CoUyer, Robt. Honesty. Br., A., 295. Conuess, John. Defence of Common Schools. Sw., 109. Cooke, J. E. Surrey's Dream. Jam., 117. Virginia Mansion, A. Jam., 31. Corwin, Thos. Mexican War. Zaeh. 61. Militia General. But. ("N".), 132. Napoleon. But. (N.), 46. Retributive Justice. But. (N.), 45. Cotton, Chaunoey. Price of Eloquence. Zach., 52. Coudert, F. R. America's Debt to France. Br., A., 31. Coultas, T. I. Culture a Basis of Brotherhood. Prather. Cowley, Abraham. Agriculture. Hud., 123. Cromwell. Hud., 392. LIST OF SPEECHES. 283 Craven, A. J. The Cause of the Gracchi. Piather. Crittenden, J. J. Relief for Ireland. Jam., 258. WarWs Trial for Murder. Jam., 178. Crofts, Wm. Manner in Debate. Jam., 84. Croly, Geo. Catiline's Defiance. Bac, 247. Eidd, 395. Law., 217. McG., 50. Catiline's Last Harangue. Kidd, 400. Catiline to his Friends. Kidd, R., 220. Mountain Scenery. Bron., E., 250. Onias's Speech. Hun., 7. Kidd, R., 328. Salathiel to Titus. Hun., 99. Zach., 49. Culberson, D. B. Federal Protection on the Rio Grande. Jam. 371. Cumming, J. Voices of the Dead. Bro., 308. Hill., 200. Law., 341. Cam., 96. Curran. Act of Habeas Corpus. Ox., S., 298. Against Justice Johnson. Zach., 140. Against Marquis of Headford. Zach., 143. Against O'Brien. Zach., 117. Appeal to the Jury. Zach., 122, 137. Defence of Orr. Zach., 119. Defence of Rowan. Zach., 109. Free Press, A. But. (N.), 271. McG., 182. Zach., 111. Informer, The. McG., 297. Zach., 121. Irish Emancipation. Zach., 114. Noble Tribute to Lord Avonmore. Zach., 144. Curry, J. L. M. Christianity the Only Basis for Freedom. Jam., 393. Curtis, G-eo. W. Aristocratic Spirit, The. Br., A., 94. Aspirations of Youth. Nor., 215. Conservatism. Br., J., V,J. Ca., 82. Duty of American Schol'ir. Kidd, 316. England's Heroic Age. Br., J., 162. Greatness of the Poet. Dav., 268. Minute-Man, The. Br., J., 67. Nations and Humanity. Dav., 215. New England. Br., A., 181. Patriotism. Br., A., 203. Cur., 151. Phillips's First Client. Br., A., 47. Phillips, Wendell. Br., A., 162. Pilgrim, The. Br., A., 64. Puritan Principle and Pluck. Br., A., 62. Washington. Br., A., 185. 284 THE SPEAKER. Curtis, M. M. Impulse and Duty. Br., A., 190. Curtis, O. A. Satan and Mephistopheles. Prather. Gushing. Unity of our Country. Ox., S., 407. Cuyler, J. L. Temperance. But. (N.), 242. Bana, J. D. Geology. Dav., 49. Dana, R. H. Blessings of Home. Hud., 153. Daniel, J. W. No Conqueror but God. Jam., 267. South Arising, The. Jam., 72. Daniels, J. Eulogy of Shotwell. Har., 159. Daniels, Parke. The Man and the State. Prather. Davis, Geo. North Carolina and the Stamp Act. Har., 140. Davis, H. W. See collected speeches. Victory or Euin. Ox., S., 293. .Davis, Jefferson. Eulogy on A. S. Johnston. Jam., 268. Oregon Question. Jam., 330. Taking Leave of the Senate. Jam., 231. Davis, T. G. C. Plea for Eonorable Peace, A. Jam., 165. Deems, C. F. Folly of Complaining. Har., 25. Who shall be King ? Bro., 315. Demosthenes. Against Bribery. Ox., S., 109. Close of Oration on the Crown. Cur., 421. Democracy Hateful to Philip. Ox., S., 86. Fortune of ^schines. Ful., 226. To the Athenians. Zach., 48. Denson. Southern Women. Har., 71. Denton, Paul. Cold Water. Br., J., 77. But. (N.), 1.38. De., 94. Depevr, C. M. See collected speeches. Army of Potomac. Dav., 236. Cons. Convention of 1787. Dav., 161. Great Danger of the Bepublic, The. Br., A., 118. Two Spies, The. Dav., 1. r. M. C. A. Br., A., 275. DeQuincey. Caesars, The. Good., 294. Murder as a Fine Art. Hud., 68. Cur., 109. Marius in Prison. Zach., 311. Universe, The. Good., 414. Dewey, O. Danger of Biches. But. (N.), 38. Genius. Bron., E., 259. Nobility of Labor. Bron., E., 266. But. (N.), 183. McG., 210. Sw., 205. DeVTitt, W. H. Federalism and the French Revolution. Br., A., 102. Dexter. Self-Defence. But., 275. LIST OP SPEECHES. 285 Dickens, Chas. (Seealso the "Dickens Reader.") On Administra- tive Reform. Ox., S., 307. On Mechanics' Institutes. Ox., S., 250. Speech of Buzfuz. But. (N.), 10. Law., 73. McG., 122. Dimitry, Alex. Art and its Influence. Jam., 83. Dlmitry, John. Joan of Arc. Jam., 289. Disraeli, Benj. Jerusalem by Moonlight. Dav., 279. Storm, The. Mad., VI., 65. Doane, G. W. E Pluribus Unum. But. (N.), 241. Dobbin, J. C. North Carolina and the Union. Har., 84. Douglas, Stephen. No Alliances with Kings. Ox., S., 91. Douglass, A. C. Our English Language. Prather. Dew, J. Improvement. Nor., 224. Duponceau. The Pilgrims. Bron., E., 312. Durant, H. F. Freedom and Equality. Kor., 176. lieligion the Basis of Government. Kor., 164. Eberhardt, J. G. Dante. Prather. Eddy, D. C. True Manliness. Nor., 220. Bdwards, Rich. All Value centres in Mind. GrT., 175. Universal Education. Gr., 171. Eels, Sam'l. The' Teacher the Hope of America. Kidd, 310. Egbert, T. E. The Heart the Source of Poxoer. Prather. Eliot, C. W. Schools and Colleges of our Country. Dav., 106. Emerson, R. W. (See also his essays.) Character. Bro., 143. Pretension. Br., A., 281. Emmett, Rob't. Vindication. Bron., E., 306. Oath., Y., 29. Law., 125. Ful., 293. , Good., 194. McG., .335. Zach., 90. England, Bishop. Duelling. But. (N.), 217. Enos, E. A. American Saxon, The. Br., A., 16. Boy in Blue and the Continental. Br., A., 188. Erskine, Lord. See collected speeches. Conquered Nations must be governed by Force. But. (N.), 272. Paine's Age of Reason. Br., A., 157. Restriction of the Press. But. (N.), 270. Evarts, W. M. Centennial of '^Q. Dav., 93. Everett, Ediw. See collected speeches. Adams and Jefferson. Bron., E., 273. Zach., 63. African Colonization. But. (N.), 211. Hun., 75. America's Experiment in Self-Government. Dav., 145. McG., 483. American Mechanics. But. (N.), 290. Benefits of Good Government. But. (N.), 273. 286 THE SPEAKEK. Everett, Edvr. (continued). California Gold and Indian Corn. But. (N.), 322. Commerce. Nor., 208. Copernicus. Good., 232. Discovery of America. But. (N".), 79. Duties of Americans. But. (N".), 91. Effects of Peace on America. But. (N".), 80. Exemplars of Patriotism. Br., A., 42. Extension of the Republic. But. (N".), 354. Farmer, The. But. (N.), 191. Feeling and Action. Nor., 146. Female Education. Hill, 23.5. Fiftieth Anniversary of Independence. Anon. (A.), 451. Galileo. But. (N.), 345. Cam., 127. Imperishability of Great Examples. But. (N.), 264. La Fayette. Cum., 2.59. Ful., 283. Language. But. (N.), 342. Mayflower, The. But. (N.), 103. Nor., 186. Zach., 65. Men who never die. But. (N.), 345. McG., 268. Morning. Cum., S., 103. Dav., 295. Good., 57. National Banner. But. (N.), 323. Kidd, 230. Law., 305. National Recollections. Leff., 304. Obligations of America to England. Hill., 39. Phi Beta Kappa Oration. Anon. (A.), 409. Pilgrims, The. Dav., Reader, 83. McG., 310. Ox., S., 351. Power of a Free People. McG., 52. Progress of -America. But. (N.), 110. Schools, Onr Common. Ox., S., 408. Speech of an Indian. But. (N.), 258. Cath., T., 42. Nor., 190. Spirit of '75. Hun , 41. Stars and Stripes. Cath., Y., 36. Vindication of America. Gr., 94. Washington' s Greatness. Br., J., 68. Cum., 256. McG., 436. yVebster's Great Speech. Hill., 288. Webster's Last Hours. Hill., 345. Farrar, F. R. Rip Van Winkle. Jam., 311. The Old Field School. Jam., 342. Fawcett : see collected speeches. Felton. Intellectual Influence of Greece. Hill., 263. Feuelon. Ancient Orators Compared. Ox., S., 347. Fergus. The Way to be Happy. Bron., E., 278. Finger, S. M. Ambition, True and False. Har., 172. LIST OF SPEECHES. 287 Finley, J. H. John Brown. Pratlier. Fiske, Jno. Insular Strength of England. Br., A., 150. Flagg, Edm. Scotland. Dav., 245. Fordyoe, James. Elocution of the Pulpit. Gr., 115. Foster, G. T, British Rule in India. Prather. Fowler, C. H. Lincoln. Gr., 141. Fox, C. J. See collected speeches. In Defence of the French Rev- olution. Ox., S., 116. Partition of Poland. Bro., 358. McG., 112. Political Pause, A. McG., VI., 103. Results of the American War. Ox., S., 272. Washington. McG., 205. Francis. Nature and God. Cm-., 232. Franklin, Benj. Federal Constitution, The. Ox., S., 198. Fire Worshipper, The. Bro., 150. Frothingham, O. B. Potency of Spiritual Force. Br., A., 66. Froude, J. A. Captivatioas of the Irish. Hud., 425. Coronation of Anne Boleyn. Dav., 10. Hud., 200. Practical Knowledge for Boys. Br., J., 148. Gallagher, W. D. Manifest Destiny. But. (N.), 176. The West. But. (N.), 174. Gait. Speech of Ringan Gilhaise. Hill., 382. Garfield, J. A. See collected speeches. Declaration of Indepen- dence. Br., J., 145. Inspiration of Sacrifice. Dav., 14. Irrepressible Conflict, The. Br., A., 89. Lincoln and his Cabinet. Br., A., 206. Memorial Day. Dav., 301. Gaston. Loan Bill. Anon. (A.), 277. Party Spirit and Disunion. But. (N.), 227. Zach., 67. Gaston, Wm. Integrity. Har., 4. George, Henry. Selfishness not the Master Motive. Br., A., 56. Slavery. Br., A., 235. George, M. "W. Bible in Art, The. Br., A., 97. Bible in Music, The. Br., A., 159. Gerard. Our Public Schools. Oath., Y., 14. Gibbon, Edw. Mahomet. But., 290. Gilpin. Treaty of Shaclcamaxon. Hun., 84. Girardeau, J. L. Carolina Dead from Gettysburg. Jam., 358. Gladstone, W. E. See collected speeches. England's Treatment of Ireland. Br., A., 271. Eulogy on Bright. Dav., 81. Home Rule. Br., A., 142. 288 THE SPEAKER. Gladstone, W. E. (continued). Boman Principles not Safe for Modern Nations. Br., A., 243. Scholar, The. Dav., 310. Goodrich, C. A. Webster defending his Alma Mater. Law., 209. Hud., 188. Gordon, J. B. Southern Reconstruction. Jam., 49, 226. Gough, J. B. Drunkards not all Brutes. Gr., 107. Pilot, The. Cum., S., 32. Gr., 182. Rapids, The. But. (N.), 191. Cum., S., 139. Water. But. (ST.), 327. What is a Minority f Br., J., 54. Grady, Henry. The Home. Dav., 84. Grant, U. S. To the Army. Sw., 41. Grattan. See collected speeches. Character of Chatham. Hill., 103. Declaration of Right. But. (N.), 268. iSTor., 281. Ireland, Plea for. McG., 406. Zach., 43. Pitt. Bron., E.,297. Reply to Carry. Bro. 339. Cum., 262. Ful., 274. Kldd., 271. McG., 189. Nor. 172. Zach., 161. Reply to Flood. Kidd, 318. McG., 187. Nor., 314. Universal Emancipation. Bron., E., 271. Gray, R. T. Southern Women. Har., 196. Graydon, T. W. The Two Races in Ireland. Prather. Greeley, Horace. True Reformers. Br., A., 74. Cath. Y.,25. Greenwood. Eternity of God. Hill., 139. Gregory, J. M. Home Influences in War Times. Gr., 153. Grier, Vf. M. Difficulties Essential to a Complete Education. Jam., 279. GrifBn. The Calumniator. But. (N.), 264. Grimke. American Literature. McG., .376. Nor., 148. Beauties of Sacred Literature. McG., 366. La Fayette and Robert Raikes. McG., VI., 145. Our Country. Cath., Y., 28. War. McG., 243. Zach., 54. Grimm, H. Two Cities. Dav., 7. Grissom, E. The Mysterious Border Land. Har., 192. Grote, Geo. Death of Socrates. Hud., 332. Guthrie, Thomas. Cities. Ca., 62. Haddock : see collected speeches. Hadley, Jas. Absolutism and Republicanism. Ox., S., 70. Ancient and Modern Oratory. Ox., S., 7u. Hall, Rob't. Dignity of Labor. Cath., Y., 48. Ox., S., 30. Farewell to Departing Volunteers. Kidd., 320. LIST OF SPEECHES. 289 Hall, Rob't. (continued). Miseries of War. Hill., 113. Reading. Bron., E., 291. Thoughts from a Great Library. Ox., S., 396. Vanity. Hud., 192. Halsey. The Bible and Woman. But. (N.), 192. Hamilton, A. J. State of the Union in '61. Jam., 89. Hamilton, Alez. The United States and the States. Ox., S., 124. Hamilton, G-ail. Character. Br., J., 82. Hamilton, Jaa. Power of the Gospel. Br., A., 71. Hammond, J. H. Calhoun. Jam., 185. Trial of Dunbar. Ca., 73. Hampton, Wade. Memorial Address. Jam., 220. Hanchett, F. G. Old and New Civilizations, The. Prather. Hancock, Jno. 2'he Boston Massacre. But. (N.), 185. Harney, W. W. Sinking of the Milwaukee. Jam., 191. Harper's Magazine. American Civilization. But. (N.), 277. North and South. But. (N.), 274. Priesthood of Woman. (But. (N.), 284. Harrell, W. B. North Carolina. Har., 21. Harris, J. M. Idea of Confederacy Delusive. Jam., 99. Harris, L. C. Poe. Prather. Harrison, Benj. See collected speeches. Our Country. Da v., 55. Harrison, Wm. Henry. Kosciusko. Bron., E., 298. Washington. Bron., E., 289,376. Bro., 217. HaTwes. Formation of Character. Nor., 159. HaTnTthorne, Nath. Cromwell and Charles I. Br., J., 103. Winter in New England. Hud., 295. Hayne, R. Y. See collected speeches. Ennobling Recollections of the Revolution. Br., A., 2.54. South Carolina. Cum., 236. Jam., 264, 155. McG.,72. McG., VI., 178. Zach., 83. South in the Revolution, The. But., 201. But. (N.), 227. Hun., 68. Kidd, 278. Law., 166. Ox., S., 192. South in War of 1812. Ox., S., 325. Haynes, Ii. C. East Tennessee. Jam., 30. Head, P. H. The Legacy of Rome. Br., A., 112. Head, Lee. Repeal of the Tennessee Dog Law. Jam., 18. Headley, J. T. Bell of Liberty, The. Br., J., 79. Bro., 235. Good., 68. Death of Cromwell. Good., 410. Deluge, The. Good., 247. Last Charge of Ney. But., 334. Ca., 41. 290 THE SPEAKEK. Headley, J. T. (continued). Miserere, The. Good., 386. Moscow, Burning of. Good., 437. Passage of the Red Sea. Good., 476. Heber. The Stream of Life. Cath., Y., 53. Helps. Public Improvements. Hud., 205. St. Paul on Charity. Hud., 410. Henderson, H. A. M. Higher Education. Jam., 176. Work for the Future. Jam., 399. Henry, Patrick. Adoption of Constitution. Anon. (A.), 16, 52, 86. Before the Delegates of Virginia. Anon. (A.), 13. Bron., E., 277. Kidd, 284. Law., 121. McG., VI., 118. British Refugees. McG., VI., 251. Freedom or Slavery. Dav., 218. Ful., 290. Dav., E., 214. Ox., S., 112. Future of the Country. Hun., 38. Resistance to British Aggression. Hun., 32. Cur., 304. Revolution, The. But. (N.), 218. Henry, W W. R. H. Lee moves Declaration of Independence. Jam., 37. Hewitt, A. S. Brooklyn Bridge. Dav., 41, 120. Hill, B. H. South once more in the Union. Jam., 9. Stars and Stripes. The. Jam., 244. Hillard, G. A. Destiny of our Republic. But. (N.), 296. Nor., 144, 194. Hitchcock, Henry. The Supreme Court. Dav., 313. Hitchcock, R. D. Communism. Br., A., 135, 197. Morality rooted in Action. Br., A., 232. Hoar, G, F. Garfield. Br., A., 199. Hobbes, Thos. Memory and the Muses. Hud., 118. Hoge, M. D. Funeral of Stonewall Jackson. Jam., 171. Holcombe, J. P. Southern View of Slavery. Jam., 87. Holden, J. W. Raleigh and Virginia Dare. Har., 76. Holden, W. W. A Happy Country. Har., 88. Holliday, — . Future of the Restored Union. Jam., 338. Holmes, L. B. Death of J. Q. Adams. Kidd, 293. McG., 267. Holmes, O. W. War of the States Inevitable. Br., A., 132. Ox., S., 331. Holt, J. S. Divided Rejmblic, A. Ox., S., 107. Love. Jam., 382. The Wedding Day. Jam., 211. Hooker, Rich. Beneficence of Law. Hud., 74. Faith, Hope, and Charity. Hud. 246. LIST OP SPEECHES. 291 Hooker, Rich, (continued). How Wisdom teaches. Hud., 249. Musical Harmony. Hud., 80. Prayer. Hud., 247. Religion and Justice. Hud., 248. Hopkinson, Majesty of the Law. Bron., E., 293. Hoss, G. W. Orators and Oratory. Prather. Houston, Sam. Defence before Congress. Jam., 285. Ho'vtrisou. Falls of Niagara. Hill., 108. Hoyt, A. S. German Love of Independence. Br., A., 61. Hubbard, R. B. Texas Centennial. Jam., 204. Hubbard, R. D. A Retrospect. Dav., 296. Hughes, E. H. The Philosophy of Inequality. Prather. Hughes, Thos. Br. Arnold. But., 44. Tom Brown at the Tomb of Arnold. Bro., 305. H^go, Victor. Against curtailing the Suffrage. Gr., 151. At the Tomb of' Louise Julien. But. (N".), 166. Caught in the Quicksand. Cum., S., 106. Cam., 125. Liberty of the Press. Ox., S., 400. Cam., 91. Man Overboard. Bro., 194. Monster Cannon, The. Dav., 52. Napoleon the Little. Hun., 81. Nineteenth Century, The. Cath.. Y., 41. Dav., 308. Religion, Necessity of. Kidd, 802. Republic or Monarchy. Ox., S., 312. Rome and Carthage. Bro., 350. Kidd, 275. Unity of Europe, The. Hun., 54. Valjean and the Savoyard. Cura., S., 55. Waterloo. Br., A., 99. Hume. Alfred the Great. Hud., 221. Chivalry of the Black Prince. Hud., 380. Dignity of Human Nature. Bron., E., 305. Humphrey, E. P. Earth a Palace Prison. But. (N.), 177. Speech of Logan. Zach., 71. Hunt, Rob't. Poetry of Science. Kidd, 163. Hunter, Alex. Is the Turtle a Fish? Jam., 235. Hunter, R. M. T. Prosperity of Union under Virginia's Influence. Jam., 278. Huskisson : see collected speeches. Hyde, H. M. The Defender of the Constitution. Prather. Ide, Geo. Introduction of Christianity into Europe. Hill., 227. IngersoU, R. G. Address to Soldiers at Indianapolis. Gr., 295. Irving, Wash, Character of Columbus. Hill., 361. 292 THE SPEAKER. Irving, Wash, {continued.) England to an American. Hud., 120. Family Reliques. Hud., 273. Forest Trees. Hud., 404. Perry's Victory. Bron., E., 260. Sorrow for the Dead. We., 171. Voyage, The. Hill., 116. Washington at Mount Vernon. Hill., 191. Westminster Abbey. Dav., 134. Jack, T. M. Lee, the Teacher. Jam., 60. Jackson, H. R. Georgia. Jam., 128. Plea of Insanity. Jam., 293. Janes, C. F. Locomotive, The. Br., J., 104. Roads, a Symbol of the Age. Br., A., 13. Janney, John. Lee. Jam., 3. Jefferson, Thos. Inaugural Address. McG., 316. Jeffrey, Francis. Shakspeare's Poetry. Bro., 251. Hud., 242. Jenkins, C. J. Accepting the Seal of Georgia. Jam., 48. Jenkins, J. The Mouse Hunt. Gr., 309. Jerrold, Douglas. Caudle Lectures : see book. Jones, Sir Wm. The State. McG., 208. Johnson, R. G-. Principles of Political Parties. Prather. Johnson, Sam'l. Patronage. Hud., 321. Johnston, R. M. Georgia Leaders after the War. Jam., 101. Johnston, W. P. The Confederate Dead. Jam., 348. Julian : see collected speeches. Eeitt, L. M. Speculative Philosophy. Jam., 12. Kelley : see collected speeches. Kellogg, D. M. The Saxon Element in Civilization. Prather. Kellogg. Curse of Regulus. Kidd, 368. Dav., 71. Spartacus to the Gladiators. Bac, 201. Ful., 310. Cum., 263. Hill., 334. Hun., 20. Law., 101. Kidd, 383. McG., 192. Spartacus to the Roman Envoys. Law., 142. Kemper, J. L. Inauguration of Stonewall Jackson's Statue. Jam., 294. Kent, Laura A. Beatrice and Margaret. Prather. Kerr, John. Love of Liberty. Har., 134. King, T. S. Burial of Baker. Sw., 74. Our Nationality. Sw., 211. Our Union. Sw., 42. Wickedness of the Rebellion. Sw., 44. King, V. O. Freemasonry. Jam., 183. Kinglake, A. W. Coup d'etat. Br., A., 291. Crimean Incident, A. Br., A., 148. LIST OF. SPEECHES. 293 Kingstmry, T. B. Our Duty as Patriots. Har., 188. Jam., 344. True North Carolinians. Har., 46. Knott, Procter. Duluth. Hun., 110, 118. Jam., 197. liepavement of Pennsylvania Avenue. Jam., 94. Knowles. Crossing the Rubicon. Bro., 208. Hun., 90. Kidd, 294. Zach., 155. Liberty. McG., 104. Rollo to the Peruvians. Kidd, 301. Triumph of Cwsar. Zach., 159. Kossuth, Louis. American Union, The. Gr., 143. Austrian Slanders and Hungarian Bravery. Bron., E., 316. Christianity Essential to Liberty. But. (N.), 85. Farewell to Hungary. But. (N",), 207. Hungary. Bron., E., 316. Cam., 111. McG., 348. Niagara. But. (N.), 53. Prosperity not Security. But. (N.), 78. Religion America' s Safeguard. But. (N.), 82. Turkey, England, and the United States. Bron., E., 300. Krauth, C. P. Luther. Dav., 39. Krohn, Philip. An Illustration. Gr., 294. Lacy, W. S. A Summer Dawn. Har., 29. La Follette, R. M. lago. Prather. Lamar, L. Q. C. Legislative Instructions and Official Duty. Jam., 142. South accepts the Situation. Jam., 306. Lamartine. La Marseillaise. Br., J., 73. Reign of Napoleon. Dav., 151. McG., 167. Religion of Revolutionary Men. Ox., S., 359. Republic of '48. Hum., 86. Landor, W. S. Andreas Hofer. Hud., 299. Bro., 274. Lanham, S. W. T. Prosecution of Satanta and Big Tree. Jam., 274. Leach, J. M. The Record of North Carolina. Har., 184. Jam., 306. Lee, R. E. Farewell to His Command. Jam., 82. Test of a Gentleman. Jam., 189. Legare. Greek Literature. Bron., E., 287. My Country. Cath., Y., 35. Leighton, Rob't. Man's Proper Good. Hud., 150. No Man to be Despised. Hud., 250. Lewis, R. H. The American Explorer. Har., 54. Lincoln, Abraham. See collected speeches. Gettysburg. Bro., 161. Dav., 87. Cum., 266. Dav., R., 346. Hill., 425. Sw., 33. Last Inaugural. Dav., 233. Hill., 426. Sw.,90. 294 THE SPBAKBK. Iiingard. Execution of Mary Queen of Scots. Hill., 278. Lippard, Geo. Black Horse and Rider. Dav., 271. Death of Arnold. Dav., 77. Supposed Exhortation to sign the Declaration. But. (N'.), 224. Livingston, Bd-w. Alien Bill. Anon. (A.), 122. Livy. Hannibal to his Soldiers. Bron., E., 247. Logan, T. M. Equal Protection for All Classes. Jam., 34. Influence of Washington on Lee. Jam., 146. Long, J. D. Boy in Blue. Br., A., 10. Lincoln. Br., J., 50. Pilgrims, The. Br., J., 46. Webster. Br., A., 180. Br., J., 63. Long, J. S. Age of Gold. Har., 32. Long, W. D. Gettysburg. Br., A. ,288. Longfellow, H. W. (See also his poems.) Cloudland. Bro., 171. Changing Seasons in Sweden. Bro., 209. Loring. Sons of New England. Cath., Y., 21. Lovejoy, E. P. Last Speech. Ox., S., 256. Lubbock : see collected speeches. Lunt, "W. P. Ship of State. Law., 195. Lusher, R. M. Duty of Louisiana to the Negro. Jam., 77. Lytton, Bul-wer. Destruction of Pompeii. Dav., 35. Good., 268. Eruption of Vesuvius, We., 104. Fall of Rienzi. Good., 147. Last Night of Pompeii. Dav., 285. Marathon. Dav., 143. Narrowness of Specialties. Dav., 113. Olympic Crown, The. Dav., 26. Surrender of Granada. McG., VI., 428. Macaulay, T. B. See collected speeches. Athens. McG., 210. Baconian Philosophy, The. Br., A., 86. Black Hole of Calcutta. Br., A., 168. Chatham. Br., A., 46. Death of Virginia. Law., 376. Devastation of the Palatinate. Good., 472. Freedom. Br., J., 44. French Assembly, The. Bron., M., 236. Fruits of Liberty. Br., J., 41. Hampden. Hill., 255. Influence of Athens. Hill., 270. Origin of the English Nation. Sar., 228. Pitt. Bron., M., 232. Progress of Civilization. Sar., 120. LIST OF SPEECHES. 295 Macaulay, T. B. (continued). Public Opinion and the Sword. Ox., S., 59. Puritans, The. Dav., 294. Reform Irresistible. Ox., S., 248. Warren Hastings. Br., A., 134. Good., 211. Kill., 315. Hud., 312. Cam., 36. Macintosh. Revolutionary- Desperadoes. Ful., 321. Mackintosh, Gr. L. Unity of Science and Religion. Prather. MacNeven. Agriculture. Bron., E., 288. Madison, Jas. An Extended Republic. Ox., S., 323. Mangum, A. W. My Mother's Grave. Jam., 145. Mann, Horace. Ignorance a Crime. De., 91. Kidd, 268. Opposite Examples. Gr., 135. World of Beauty Around Vs. Hill., 402. Mansfield, Lord. True Popularity. McG., 381. March, C. W. Webster's Reply to Hayne. Cum., 245. Marius, Caius. Reply to Patricians. McG., 450. Marshall, M. M. Chaff to the Wheat. Har., 34. Marshall, T. F. Clay Monument, The. But. (N.), 173. Temperance Pledge, The. Jam., 44. Mason, J. M. Death of Hamilton. McG., 60. Death of Washington. Nor., 225. Mathews. Winter and his Visitor. Bro., 186. Maury. Oratory. Kidd, 289. Maxy. Loss of National Character. Bron., E., 282. Patriotic Triumph. Bron., E., 263. May, H. Federal Despotism in Maryland. Jam., 366. Peace and Recognition. Jam., 253. Mayhevr. Model Irish Speaker. Hun., 105. McCabe, "W. G. Reunion of the Virginia Division. Jam., 39. MoDuffie. Political Corruption. Bron., E., 310. McG., 462. Popular Elections. But. (N.), 219. Zach., 80. McGowan, Sam'l. The Solid South. Jam., 125. McRee, J. 1. The North Carolina Press, Har., 58. Meagher, T. F. American Freedom. But. (N.), 76. Ireland. Gr., 152. Ca., 35. But. (N.), 208. National Militia. But. (N.), 170. Patriotism. Bro., 356. Poland. But. (N.), 70. Still the Sam.e. But. (N.), 269. Summer with the Kings. But. (N.), 179. Transportation of Mitchel. But. (N.), 64. Meek, A. B. The Red Men of Alabama. Jam., 144. 296 THE SPEAKER. Merivale. Character of Cicero. Hud., 286. Michelet. The Wing. Bron., M., 242. MUes, J. "W. Bible, The. Jam., 61. Calhoun. Jam., 250. Mill, J. S. Contest in America. Ox., S., Uses of Poetry and Art. Hud., 335. Miller, A. S. The Farmer. Gr., 172. Miller, H. "W. Our Country. Har., 152. Union Invaluable. Har., 97. Mills, R. Q. Electoral Commission Bill. Jam., 68. Milton, John. Awakening of a Nation. Hill., 424. Freedom the Element of Virtue. Hud., 148. Freedom of Press. Hud., 75. Mirabeau. On a System of Finance. McG., 477. ' Privileged Classes, The. Ox., S., 55. Mitchel, O. M. First Predicted Eclipse. Dav., 256. Hill, 358. First Viexv of the Heavens. Bro., 181. Dav., 75. Wonders of Astronomy. Hill., 245. Mitchell, D. G. Summer. Hill., 364. Mitford, Miss. Bienzi to Bomans. Kidd, 338. Law., 95. Mommsen, Theodore. Cfzsar. Br., A., 286. Dav., 124. Moody. Nature. Bron., E., 302. Moore, J. W. North Carolina. Har., 113. Baleigh. Har., 91. Morris, Gouv. Free Navigation of the Mississippi. Anon. (A.), 203. Judiciary Act. Anon. (A), 132. National Union. Bron., E.,250. Morris, Owen. Progress, Its Sources and Laws. Prather. Moseley. Speech of Hector Longuebeau. Cam., 36. Motley, J. L. Armada, The. Bron., M., 237. How the Sea came to Leyden. Good., 490. Muhlenburg. Dignity of Christianity. Good., 486. Napier. Wellington. Hud., 317. Napoleon. To the Army of Italy. But. (N.), 147. Naylor. Northern Laborers. Hill., 326. Law., 165. Cam., 39. Naylor, S. W. Puritan and Cavalier. Prather. Neal. Tomahawk Submissive to Eloquence. Zach., 96. Newman, J. H. Proper Forces and Fruits of the Gospel. Hud., 284. Soul's Proper Home, The. Hud., 151. Noland, C. T. The World's Conquerors. Prather. Norton. Influence of the Wise and Good. Bron., E., 309. LIST OF SPEECHES. 297 Norwood, T. M. Centennial of American Independence. Jam., 396. Nott, E. Death of Hamilton. Hill., 321. But. (K.), 125. O'Brien, J. W. The Representative Orator. Br., A., 1. O'Connell, Dan'l. Ireland. McG., 342. Irish Disturbance Bill. Bro., 338. Ox., S., 176. Zach., 79. O'Reilly, J. B. Bide of Graves. Gr., 291. Osgood, S. Marriage Ring, The. But. (N.), 239. Our Flag. But. (N.), 237. Ossian. Address to Moon. Bron., E., 241. Address to Night. Good., 243. Address to Sun. Bron., E., 244. McG., 488. Lament for Carthon. McG., 444. Oatrander, L. A. Opinions vs. Armies. Br., J., 127. Otis, James. Taxation. McG., 427. Nor., 243. Zach., 84. Paine. French Aggressions. Zach., 100. Paley. Conditions of Happiness. Hud., 407. Palmer, B. M. The Present Crisis. Jam., 210. Palmer, P. W. A Piece of Bunting. Br., A., 237. Palmerston. Competitive Examinations. Ox., S., 393. Parker, Theo, Genii of Old and New Civilizations. Cam., 19. God Omnipresent. Br., A., 266. Bights of Mankind. Cam., 27. Parton. Jefferson as a Lawyer. Sar., 82. Paxton, John R. Corporal of Chancellorsville. Br., A., 250. Old-fashioned Man of God. Br., A., 83. Passing of the Puritan. - Br., A., 229. Payne, J. H. Brutus over Body of Lucretia. Ox., S., 39. Payne, W. H. Fitz Lee. Jam., 24. Peabody, A. P. Divine Providence in Human Art. Hud., 257. Pearson, Chas. Alfred the Great. Br., A., 270. Peel : see collected speeches. Peele, W. J. Revolution not always Reform. Har., 81, 185. Perceval. Liberty to Greece. McG., 308. Perier, Casimir. On being called Aristocrat. Ox., S., 418. Phelps, E. J. Farewell to England. Dav., 67. Marshall. Dav., 229. Sovereignty of the People. Dav., 297. Phillips, Chas. America. Bron., E., 280. Bro., 200. But. (N.), 325. McG., 116, 203. Zach., 62. Appeal against Blake. Zach., 130. Appeal against Dillon. Zach., 132. Appeal in Behalf of Guthrie. Zach., 135. 298 THE SPEAKER. Phillips, Chas. (continued). Appeal in Behalf of O'Mullan. Zach., 131. Bonaparte. Bron., E., 302. Bro., 317. Law., 68. Zach., 128, 129. Catholic Question. Zach., 68. Education. But. (N.), 295. McG., VI., 108. Zach., 134. Ireland and the Irish. McG., 407, 409. Zach., 51, 113. Policy of England. Zach., 42. Press, Liberty of the. Zach., 133. Reputation. Br., J., 152. Ful., 300. Kidd, 276. McG., 296. Speech at London. Zach., 12:3, 125. Speech to Mr. Finlay. Zacli., 116. Union of Church and State. Zach., 115. Washington. Br., A., 139. Bro., 167. But. (N.), 94. Law., 212. McG,, 204. Sw., 150. Zach., 57. Phillips, Wendell. See collected speeches. Athens vs. Egypt. Br., J., 142. Christian Citizenship. Dav., R., 372. Idols. Cum., 250. Intemperance. Br., A., 147. Justice and Liberty. Cam., 23. O'Connell. Cum., 242. Permanence of Empire. Dav., 276. Pilgrims, The. Br., A., 27. Price of Liberty. Ox., S., 85. Eobert Rantonl. Br., A., 123. Toussaint L'Ouverture. Br., A., 100. Cum., 252. Dav., 212. Ful., 302. Woman Suffrage. Br., A., 163. Pickens, F. W. True Greatness in a People. Jam., 241. Pierpont. Not on the Battlefield. McG., 166. Pike, A. Breckenridge, J. C. Jam., 103. Greatness Perfected by Unmerited Misfortunes. Jam., 262. Old Age and Death. Jam., 271. Pacific Railroad, The. But. (KT.), 106. Pinkney, Wm. See collected speeches, Missouri Questio^i, The. Anon. (A.), 320. Treaty-Making Power. Anon. (A.), 303. Pitt : see Chatham. Plunkett (Lord) : see collected speeches. Legislation of Ireland. McG., 113. Polk, Wm. Washington. Har., 109. Pollok. Teachings of Nature. McG., 249. LIST OP SPEECHES. 299 Pope, Alez. Homer and Virgil. Bro., 252. Hud., 396. Porter, H. Courage. Dav., 278. Porter, L. L. Unification of Italy. Br., A., 152. Porter, W. D. Commencement Bay. Jam., 168. Professors and Books. Jam., 252. Washington. Jam., 109. Prentice, G. D. The Thunderstorm. Bron., M., 245. Prentiss, S. S. Church and School. But. (N.), 106. Defence of a Client. But. (N.), 96. Invective in a Trial. (But.), 115. Famine in Ireland. Bron., E., 376. Bro., 325. Ful., 296. McG., 117. Zach., 46. La Fayette. But. (N.), 65, 66, 68. McG., 170. New England and the Union. Bron., E., 377. McG., 80. Sw., 87. New England Enterprise. But. (N.), 117. Past, The. -But. (N.), 104. Pilgrims. But. (N.), 122. Bepublic, Integrity of the. But. (N.), 133. Spaniard in America, The. But. (IST.), 99. Presoott, W. H. First View of Mexico. Dav., 202. Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella. Br., A., 269. Preston, J. S. Changes wrought by the War. Jam., 127. Preston, W. C. Eloquence. Jam., 228. Kidd, 307. Price, T. R. Habit of Reading. Jam., 134. Pritchard, T. H. Language. Han, 119. Procter, Adelaide : see book of poems. Legend of Bregenz. De., 88. Gr., 242. Prouty, S. F. Faith and Doubt as Motors of Action. Prather. Pultney. Standing Armies. McG., 480. Puryear, B. Against Repudiation. Jam., 51. Quincy, Josiah. British and French Edicts. Anon. (A.), 241. Embargo, The. McG., 461. Neil] England. Dav., 117. Religion the Basis of Independence. McG., 291. Raleigh, Sir "Walter. Eloquence of Death. Hud., 9. Ranck, G. "W. Kentucky. Jam., 303. O'Uara's Bivouac of the Dead. Jam., 242. Randolph, Edmund. Adoption of the Constitution. Anon. (A.), 34. Randoph, John. British Influence. Bro., 357. Zach., 81. British Predilection. Hun., 96. Importation of British Goods. Anon. (A.), 228. Increase of Army. Anon. (A.), 255. 300 THE SPEAKER. Randolph, John (continued). On the Greek Question. Ox., S., 356. Tariff. Anon. (A. ), 352. Ransom, M. W. Let us end Sectional Strife. Jam., 66. South Faithful to Duty. Jam., 404. Southern Chivalry. Jam., 298. Tribute to Virginia. Jam., 100. Value of the Union. Har., 146. Rantoul : see collected speeches. Read, T. B. Rising, The. Law., 54. Reed, T. B. Labor and Capital. Br., J., 74. Miswritten History. Br., A., 192. Progress and Invention. Br., A., 79. Reid, N. P. 3'Ae Source of Happiness. Har., 180. Richter, Jean Paul. The Two Roads. Cum., S., 9. Rlenzi. Last Appeal to Romans. Kidd, 208. Ritsher, E. C. Conservatism an Essential MleTnent of Progress. Pratlier. Robbing, R. D. C. The Reprieve. Cum., S., 160. Roberts. Commercenot the Basis of NationalBuration. Cam., 121. Robertson, P. W. See collected speeches. Arnold and Words- worth. Bro., 276. Faith in the Right. Bro., 2.34. Illusion and Disillusion. Cu., 313. Moral Decay brings National Ruin. Cam., 59. Poetry of War. Br., A., 273. Right and Duty. Cam., 20. War Better than Moral Decay. Cam., 123. Robespierre. Last Speech. Law., 204. Ox., 290. Robinson, S. Hand-ioashing Magistrates. Jam., 156. Rodman, John. The Patriot's Duty. Cam., 14. Roland, Madame. Last Speech. Ox., S., 260. Rondthaler, E. The True Woman. Har., 127. Ross, J. M. Political Mission of Puritanism. Prather. Ruskin, John. Death of Moses. Dav., 193. True Kings of the Earth. Cam., 118. Tyre, Venice, and England. Dav., 100. Russell, C. Defence of the Irish Party. Dav., 103. Russell, G. R. All Labor equally Honorable. Bron., E., 379. Commerce, Art, and Religion. Bron., E., 375. Merchant and Scholar. Bron., E., 371. Merchants and Ship-masters. Bron., E., 378. What Commerce has done. Bron., E., 378. LIST OF SPEECHES. 301 Russell, G. R. (continued). Work Enough/or All. Bron., E., 380. Russell, H. H. Mob and Law. Prather. Sargent, A. A. Danger of Exasperating the Rebels. Sw., 161. Sargent, Epes. Caius Gracchus to the Romans. Ox., S., 186. Begulus to the Roman Senate. Ox., S., 29. VenathUs to Lusitanians. Ox., S., 89. Satanta. Defence. Jam., 277. Schiller. (See poems.) Remorse of DeMoor. McG., 143. Scburz, Carl. See collected speeches. Declaration of Indepen- dence. Dav., 168. Cam., 107. Not Party, but Country. Cam., 84. Rebel BiHgadier. Br., A., 107. Sumner and the Battle Flags. Cum., 248. Dav., 177. Scott, Walter : see his poems. Fisherman's Funeral. Hud., 224, 227. Reflections on his own Life. Hud., 428. Speech of Macbriar. Hun.-, 10. Kidd, R., 327. Speech of Richard. Hun., 13. Speech of Rob Roy. Hun., 16. Sooville, D. C. Truth and Victory, Br., A., 21. Searle, C. H. Patriotism of Sentiment. Br., A., 91. Sergeant, J. See collected speeches. Military Qualifications Dis- tinct from Civil. Kidd, 322. Seward, W. H. Adams, J. Q. Hill., 312. McG., 266. Admission of California. Gr., 108. Clay. McG., 261. Eulogy on O'Connell. Bro., 348. Our Lot as Americans. Cath., Y., 10. Seward: see collected speeches. Seymour, H. Saratoga. Br., A., 125. Shaftesbury. Common-sense Morality. Hud., 158. ■ Shairp. Wordsworth's Poetry. Hud., 370. Shakspeare, Wm. : see list of selections in Fulton & Trueblood's Clioice Readings. Sheil, R. L. Irish Aliens and British Victories. Ox., S., 148. Dav., 199. Irish Patriotism. Kidd, R., 128. Prosecution of 0' Connell. Cam. , 109. Vindication of Ireland. Hill., 420. Shelley, P. B. : see poems. Sheridan, R. B. See collected speeches. Character of Justice. Dav., 303. Ox., S., 319. 302 THE SPEAKER. Sheridan, R. B. (continued). Las Casus dissuading from Battle. Zach., 156. Mr. Puff. But. (N.), 231. Perfect Orator, The. Bac, 255. Rolla's Addres.s. But. (N.), 249. Zach., 58. Sigourney, Mrs. Bemardine du Born. McG., 240. Simms, W. G. Sense of the Beautiful. Jam., 193. Skinner, T. B. Paul before Agrippa. Har., 168. Smith, A. Misdirected Ambition. We., 150. Texas bestowed on the Prince of Peace. Jam., 387. Smith, B. G. Commerce. Br., A., 174. Br., J., 52. Smith, B. C. America's Greatness. Har., 94. Patriotism. Har., 63. Smith, J. E. Indebtedness to the Greeks. Sar., 101. Smith, Sydney. False Notions of Vigor. Ox., S., 195. Ireland and Grattan. Him., 78. Labor and Genius. Ox., S., 367. Noodle's Oration. Hud., 65. Patriotism. Dav., E., 306. Profession of Law. Hud., 401. Reform Bill. Bro., 233. Hill., 404. Spirit of Intolerance. Ox., S., 383. Taxation in England. Good., 471. McG., 234. Ox., S., 303. Smith, W. Religion Necessary to Character. Jam., 372. Smyth, S. P. N. Old Faiths in New Light. Dav., 62. Socrates. Apology. McG., 331. South, Rob't. Man in the Image of God. Hud., 275. Southey, Rob't. Books and Reading. Hud., 52. Death of Nelson. Hud., 315. Starting Points of Marriage, Hud., 433. Wat Tyler's Address to the King. Law., 200. Sparks, J. Washington. McG., VI., 444. Spartacus : see Kellogg. Spencer. Character of Napoleon. Hun. 58. Sprague, Chas. Happy America. But. (N.), 20. Indian, The. Bro., 215. But. (K), 47. Nor., 179. Intemperance. But. (N.), 144. McG., 139. Stability of our Government. Kidd, 295. Revolution, The. McG., 438. Spring, Dr. Observance of the Sabbath. McG., VI., 425. Stanhope. Neutral Rights. Zach., 76. Staples, J. N. Our Country, Past and Present. Har., 37. Steele, Rich. True Fine Gentleman. Hud., 393. LIST OF SPEECHES. 303 Stephens, Alex. H. Address to Emory College. Jam., 92. Address to Georgia Legislature. Jam., 64, 326. Duty of the Hour. Jam., 159. Essentials of Bepublican Government. Jam., 116. Land of Memories, The. Jam., 1. Let us conquer our Prejudices. Jam., 215. National Institutions. Br., J., 158. Slavery, the Corner Stone of the Confederacy. Sw., 154. Stephens, Linton. Recollection of Youth. Jam., 378. Southern Reconstruction. Jam., 8, 207. Stephens, W. H. The University and the State. Law., 395. Sterne, Lau. The Captive. Hill., 87. Stevens. Death of General Taylor. But. (N.), 289. Stiles, R. Death of Pickett. Jam., 78. Vindication of the Army. Jam. , 375. Stimson, H. A. Liberty Safe in America. Br., A., 231. Trustworthiness of the People. Br., A., 73. Stockton, Rich. Against Whipping in the Navy. Ox., S., 338. The Sailor. McG., 454. Stone, A. L. American Industry. Sw., 151. Our Flag. Sw., 88. Storrs, R. S. America's Indebtedness to Holland. Br., J., 151. Book and the Building, The. Dav., 166. Courage. Br., A., 38. Red-Letter Days. Br., A., 110. Strength of the Government. Br., J., 123. Things Worth Celebrating. Br., J., 112. Wiclif. Dav., 238. Story, Jos. Appeal for Liberty. Nor., 242. Zach.,95. McG., 375. Characteristics of the Age. Law., 397. Corruption the Cause of National Downfall. Zach., 94. Duty to the Republic. Bro., 262. But. (N.), 92. Cath., T., 2. McG., 384. Kidd, 271. Ful., 264. Law., 193, 335. Indians, The. But. (N.), 52, 184. Cath., T., 11. McG., 220. Zach., 72. Law., 140. Modern Republics. Bron., E., 271. Phi Beta Kappa Oration. Anon. (A.), 504. Sto'we, H. B. Laughin' in Meetin'. Cum., S., 198. Strafford, Earl of. Arbitrary Punishments. Hud., 63. Stryker, M. 'W. Comedy and Tragedy. Br., A., 183. Dramatic Poetry. Br., A., 62. Sumner, Chas. See collected speeches. Age of Progress. Cath., T., 50. 304 THE SPEAKER. Sumner, Chas. (continued). Ancient and Modern Productions. Zach., 97. Incentives to Duty. Hill., 205. Merchant, The. Cath., T., 22. Victories of Peace, The. Da v., 197. Washington and Lincoln. Hill., 430. Sutherland, J. B. Mount Vernon. Law., 181. Swain. Uses of the Ocean. Hill., 2.50. Swing, David. Golden Rule, The. Br., J., 16.5. Moral Laws the Soul's Guide. Br., A., 252. National Indebtedness to the Past. Br., A., 227. Righteousness. Br., A., 11. Talfourd. Lamb and Coleridge. Hud., 196. Talmage, T. D. Borrowing. Br., J., 99. Chills and Fever. Law., 392. Cut Behind. Cam., 33. Ghosts. Bro., 363. Greatness of Little Things. Br., A., 143. Hand, The. Dav., 172. Indolence. Br., J., 120. Struggle before Success. Br., J., 136. Wreck of the Huron. Cum., S., 242. Taylor, Jeremy. Best Use of Speech. Hud., 114. Lady Carberry. Hud., 82. Toleration. Hud., 3.37. Taylor, W. H. Death of Pliny. Jam., 163. Tennyson, Lord : see poems. Terrell, A. W. Ex Parte Rodriguez. Jam., 148. Thackeray, W. M. George III. Hun., 64. Plea for Dunces. Ox., S., 390. Thatcher. Woman^s Influence. Law., 282. Thirlwall. Alcibiades and Socrates. Hud., 260. Thompson, C. L. Two Streams of History, The. Dav., 288. Tilden : see collected speeches. Thurlow, Lord. Reply to Duke of Grafton. Kidd, 321. Zach., 91. Timrod, H. The Alabama. Jam., 131. Toombs, Rob't. Boston Lecture on Slavery. Jam., 390. Territories Common Property of the Union. Jam., 106. Tracy, P. P. Growth of California. Sw., 152. The Norman.^. Sw., 160. Trescot, W. H. Pettigrew. Jam., 337. Southern State Loyalty. Jam., 403. Trumbull, H. C. Worth of a Conviction. Br., J., 146. LIST OF SPEECHES. 305 Tucker, J. R. Centennial Bill. Jam., 64. Upson, A. J. Truth in Bhetoric. Br., A., 120. Vallandigham : see collected speeches. Vance, Zeb. Autumn in Swannanoa Valley. Jam., 42. Duty of Southerners after the War. Jam., 175. Mountain Scenery of North Carolina. Jam., 222. North Carolina's Independence. Har., 177. Small Beginnings. Har., 123. Washington. Har., 2. Van Dyke, H. J. The Typical Dutchman. Dav., 112. Verplanck, Gr. American History. But. (N.), 56, 59. Dav., 305. America's Contributions to the World. Law., 192. The Schoolmaster. Cath. Y., 38. Vilas, "W. P. Empire of Freedom, The. Br., A., 342. People's Intelligence the Nation's Security, The. Br., A., 49. Voorhees, D. W. Decline of the Hebrew Commonwealth. Br., A., 19. Fall of Dutch Eepublic. Br., A., 30. Protection of American Citizens. Br., A., 81. Surrendered Liberty never regained. Br., A., 140. Walker, Timothy. Danger of our Prosperity. Ox., S., 211. Wallis, S. T. George Peabody. Jam., 328. Great Virginian, The. Jam., 223. No Safety in Arbitrary Power. Jam., 315. Walpole, Sir Rob't. Attack on Pitt. Ful.,260. McG-., VI., 113. Kidd, 312. Walthall, W. T. The Dead of Mobile. Jam., 229. Walton, Isaac. Herbert. Hud., 5, 125. Hooker. Hud., 243. Ware, H. Need for the Orator. McG., VI., 70. Ware, Wm. Zenobia's Ambition. Bro., 329. Zenobia to her Captor. Cur., 405. Warner, C. D. The Camel. Br., J., 95. Warren, Joseph. Boston Massacre. But. (N.), 189. Warren, Josiah. Freedom. But. (N.), 186. Zach.,70. Dav., 159. Washington, Geo. Farewell Address. But., 296. Jam., 332. Religion and Morality. Good., 519. Wayland. Roman Empire a Preparationf or Christianity. Hill., 243. Webster, Dan'l. See collected speeches. Adams and Jefferson. Anon. (A.), 475. Adams on Independence. Bron., E., 245. Bro., 243. But. (N.), 220. De., 88. Ful., 245. Good., 182. Hill., 156. Hud., 430. Kidd, 299. Law., 178. Leff., 202. McG. VI., 403. 306 THE SPEAKBE. Webster, Dan'I. (continued). American Institutions. Ztich., 104. Applications of Science. Good., 473. McG., 372. Bunker Hill Monument. Anon. (A.), 435. But. (N.), 86, 38. McG., 434, 502. Sw., 174. Calhoun's Political Strategy. Hud., 354. Christianity the Law of the Land. Dav., 97. Coalition, The. McG., 237. Contest against Executive Power. Br., A., 4. Hud., 302. Dane, Mr. McG., 238. Duties of American Citizens. Bron., E., 311. But. (N.), 116. Sw., 15. Duty of Chief Magistrate. McG., 276. Sar., 223. Elements of the American Government. Sw. , 30. Eloquence. Bron., E., 286. But. (N.), 9. Law., 133. De., 78. Kidd, 248. Gr., 190. McG., 136. Nor., 143. Eloquence of Adams. Cur., 255. Fourth of July. But. (K.), 259. Sw., 56. Fraudulent Party Outcries. Ful., 324. Hud., 181. Free Discussion. Zach., 103. Future of America. Dav., 209. Hill., 212. Ox., S., 399. Greek Revolution. McG., 306. Eoiu Scholars are made. Bron., E., 370. Hungary. McG., 350. Influence of Great Events. But. (N.), 141. Zach., 93. Justice to the Whole Country. Law., 373. Kidd, 270. Liberty and the Constitution. But. (N.), 359. Liberty and Union. Bron., E., 255. Bro., 161. But. (N".), 98. Ful., 266. Gr., 185. Hud., 305. Law., 124. Kidd, 291. McG., VL, 442. Sw., 21. We., 79. Zach., 88. Log Cabin, The. Hud., 350. Matches and Overmatches. Ful., 280. Hud., 61. Murder of Captain White. Bron., E., 251. Cum., 240. Good., 466. Hun., 45. Hud., 59. Law., 164. McG., VI., 416. Zach., 98. Opposition to the Declaration. Bro., 242. Hill., 154. Our Common Schools. Sw., 210. Our Country. Bron., E., 240. Sw., 106, 110, 205. We., 176. Panama Mission. Anon. (A.), 376. Perils of Disunion. Br., A., 261. But. (N.), 209. Dav., R., 371. Hill., 300. McG., 155. Permanence of the Union. But. (N.), 23. Ox., S., 378. Platform of the Constitution. Ox., S., 240. Sw., 97. LIST OF SPEECHES. 307 Webster, Dan'l (continued). Political Conversion. McG., 235. Public Opinion. But. (N.), 128. Day., 33. Reply to Hayne. Bron., E., 254. Cum., 239. Dav.,51. Dav., R., 368. Ful., 304. Hun., 71. Hud., 183. Law., 168. McG., 73. McG., VI., 180. Responsibility of Americans. McG., 272. Rich and Poor. McG., 279. Right of Free Disctission. Kidd, 287. Settlement of America. But. (N.), 143. Zach., 92. Slave Trade. Hill., 28. Spirit of Human Liberty. Bron., E., 377. Hud., 304. Washington's Birthday. Br., J., 49. But., 204. Cath., Y., 17. Left., 298. McG., 207. Washington to the Present Generation. Law., 214. Woman's Influence. McG., 128. Weld, Theo. Love of Liberty Common to All. Kidd, R., 230. West, C. S. Moral Element in Education. Jana., 222. Whipple, E. P. (See also essays. ) English Literference. Ox., S., 103. True Glory of a Nation. Cath., T., 46. Washington, a Man of Genius. Zaoli., 40. Bron., E., 376. Washington's Military Career. Br., A., 284. White, A. D. Dome of the Republic. Dav., 264. Ca., 105. White, R. G. Merchant of Venice, The. Gr., 119. Whitehead, Z. W. Old North State Forever. Har., 198. Wiley, C. H. True Mission of Woman. Har., 101. Wilson, James. Vindication of the Colonies. Anon. (A.), 1. Wilson, — . Importation of Chinese. Cath., Y., 5. Winans,— . Our Flag. Sw., 202. Windham : see collected speeches. Winston, G. T. Liberty and Law. Har., 42. Winthrop, EdTW. Inspiration of the Bible. Bac, 225. Winthrop, R. C. See collected speeches. Cause of the Union. Hill., 410. Death of Peabody. Cath., Y., 7. Eloquence of Everett. Hill., 433. Franklin. Nor., 197. Our Country's Destiny. We., 103. But. (N.), 143. Washington Monument. Nor., 219. But. (N.), 207. Dav., R., 251. Dav., 154. Winthrop, Theo. The Order of Gentlemen. Bro., 224. Wirt, Wm. Blind Preacher, The. Hill., 44. Burr and Blennerhassett. Bro., 284. Br., A., 268, 308 THE SPEAKER. Wirt, Wm. (continued). Close of a Patriot's Life. But. (N.), 278. Colloquial Powers of Franklin. McG., VI., 342. Decisive Integrity. Dav., 141. Industry and Eloquence. Bron., E., 301, 305. De.,97. Kidd, 305. Talents always ascend. Bron., E., 269. Wise, Daniel. Dream of Greatness. Bio., 202. Intelligence an Element of Success. Bro., 187. Witherspoon, T. D. Modern Materialism. Jam., 107. Wordsworth, Wm. (See also poems.) Poetry. Hud., 116. Wyckoff, C. T. Judas Iscariot. Prather. Wyndham : see collected speeches. Yates, — . Temperance. Cath., Y., 43. Yates, Rich. Evolution of Government, The. Prather. Young, M. J. Constitutional Liberty. Jam., 56. Zachos. Destiny of Human Bace. Zach., 146.