WEBSTER'S RECITER.

INTRODUCTION.

A TONGUEY man generally carries rocks in his pocket, and if this is not always the case, yet the converse is almost invariably true that the man who sits like an owl in company, and looks unutterable things, but says nothing, goes "with many a hungry belly," as our old friend John Bunyan expresses it.

However cleverly or wisely a man may think, nobody is the better for his thoughts unless he lets them out. It is also better, for their own sake, that they should take the air; for the correct expression of one's ideas is an aid to correct thinking. Rivers that run are clearer than stagnant pools and sluggish streams.

Many a rustic, just emerged from the woods, has been taken for a fool, or something near it, when he first came to a seaport town, for the reason that he had never been accustomed to converse except with his oxen, his horses, or his sheep, and such terms as these can appreciate are not well adapted to bipeds of the human stripe.

But, after the man has lived awhile in town, daily associating with his own species, he has brightened up, like a scoured saucepan, and in many cases, has out-stripped those who enjoyed every advantage of academies, colleges, and polite acquaintances, from the start.

Talents which are folded in a napkin and tucked away

out of sight, remain unproductive to the end; and little does a young man know what is in him till he overhauls his luggage and brings forth good things, new and old, from the secret lockers in which Nature and observation have stored them.

Try, as the spider did; and if you fail, try again and again, and ninety-nine chances to a hundred, you will succeed. Fortune is sometimes a coy damsel who requires a great deal of wooing; but steady and obstinate perseverance, as with the other members of her sex, will fetch her at last. Therefore, what we say unto one, we say unto all: "Go in, and win!"

By means of speech, our thoughts are conveyed to each other. One may judge how much he is indebted to this fact for the knowledge that he possesses, and even for many of those views which he supposes to have cropped out from his own individual brain, by comparing the man of society with one who has been all his life isolated from his kind.

Unfortunate creatures of this description have occasionally been discovered; and they seemed to possess no more intelligence than the beast of the field, without the instinct which is given the latter for a guide.

A man standing in the midst of a spacious hall with one candle in his hand, though it burn well, would seem almost wholly enveloped in darkness; but when many persons enter, each one bearing a lighted candle, then every man in the room has the benefit of all the light, though his individual candle contributes but a small quota to the general illumination.

The evidence is, therefore, overwhelming, that man was intended by Nature as a creature of society, receiving and conferring benefits by association. It is, then, no more than fair that he should keep his own lamp trimmed and burning, that while each individual enjoys the benefits conferred by the whole mass, he should also throw in his mite towards the general good.

But, this is not all; by means of social converse, many

pleasures are obtained, and to some, who are inspired by the love of fame, distinction, celebrity, and world-wide renown, are the guerdon of industry and persevering application. By none are these so readily attained as by the successful ORATOR. While the good convensationalist is the charm of private society, and like the bachelor, "is welcome wherever he goes," it is the more brilliant destiny of the orator to move large assemblies, to stir the soul of immense multitudes, and to exercise a gigantic influence over the fortunes of his country and the momentous affairs that interest and excite the whole world.

In order to succeed as an orator, the noviciate should be thoroughly penetrated with the dignity of his calling. A buffoon or a Merry Andrew is one thing, an orator is another. The one amuses, the other instructs, elevates mankind, and improves the public taste.

Although it is necessary that the audience should believe in the sincerity of the orator, and that he truly believes all that he utters, still if his delivery is bad, neither sincerity nor good sentiments will atone for an awkward manner and an unpleasant voice.

In reading, one is interested only in the ideas conveyed by the writer, but in listening to a true orator, he is forcibly impressed and often electrified from sympathy with the effect which those ideas have upon the impassioned soul of the speaker. By look, gesture, and tone of voice, the feelings of an animated orator are poured into the breasts of his audience, when reason and argument alone would succeed in obtaining no more than a tame assent to the propositions of the speaker.

On the other hand, the orator must not be ambitious to shine as an actor: the two vocations are entirely different. Very seldom is a public speaker warranted in personating or mimicing those whom he would hold up to public scorn or reprobation. The wish to succeed in that line is an evidence of vulgar taste. It is pardonable only in the

12

ELOQUENCE AS AN ART.

actor, who possesses all the talent, the means, and appliances to render his representations effective.

A palpable desire to show off and to force applause, is offensive to a discriminating audience, and that orator is most certain of winning the esteem of his listeners, and securing permanent renown, who so dazzles his audience by pouring light upon his theme that they cannot see the man himself,

ELOQUENCE AS AN ART.

LET no one imagine that it is necessary to spring forth from the hand of nature an orator ready made to order, like a toad-stool which comes to perfection between the evening twilight and the dawn.

Orators don't grow in that way. Topsey is the only person within our remembrance who "growed."

The greatest orators of antiquity were the last persons in the world who seemed fitted for their vocation by nature. The greatest orator of all, whose name was Demosthenes, had a weak voice, an impediment in his speech, and an ungainly habit of shrugging up his shoulders. He used suitable means for overcoming those defects, and then his eloquence carried everything before it

The voice may be trained to adapt itself to the sentiment uttered, whether it be indignation, scorn, contempt, grief, pity, admiration, curiosity, fear, hope, or indifference.

Gestures at once suitable and elegant, chaste and yet forcible, have also a powerful effect upon the audience, and give much added force to the eloquence of thought and language.

When the voice is weak, it should be strengthened by frequent practice, by exercising it in the open air, and upon all convenient occasions.

The taste, and a knowledge of proper gestures, may be improved not only by hearing lectures on elocution, but also