else happened to me during the few weeks between my meeting with your
father and my leaving for home?”

The words were simple enough; but the man’s face wore so strange an
expression that Helène was filled with trepidation. She could barely
stammer her assent and stared helplessly into space.

“Miss Helène,” Morton was pale now and his voice had gained an
impassioned vigor. She felt she dared not look at him. “Miss Helène,
when I met your father--I also met his daughter--by means of a portrait
which has since never left its place near my heart.”

The girl’s lips formed as if to whisper, but no sound passed through
them.

“A voice in me spoke to me, and said ‘this is the woman of your
dreams,’ and I exultantly obeyed the call. When I met you in Padina my
dream woman was surpassingly realized. And during the days that came
after, when I saw you, hour after hour, so brave, so loyal, so good,
my heart went out to you. All my manhood cried out to protect you,
and all my soul desired to worship you. On that memorable morning in
the Transylvanian cottage, when I stood near you and held your hand,
I almost forgot your distress and came near opening my heart to you.
And in Vienna when at parting you spoke those words of friendship and
approval, it was all I could do to hold myself back. I left determined
to come back to Weimar and speak to you; but you had flown. Oh, how I
have searched for you! But I had to be content with your letter and
its promise for the autumn. I have lived on that promise--and no man
ever longed for autumn as I did! Helène, I am not a youth to be caught
by a beautiful face. I am a ripened man tried by the fire of life.
When I met you, face to face yesterday, I knew it was the answer to my
prayers. I know now what love is--true, ennobling love. Helène, I love
you. Will you not look at me? Speak to me, Helène!”

Deeply agitated, she raised her eyes, which shone with the bliss of a
revelation, to the impassioned man towering over her. Her lashes were
wet with tears they had tried to hide. Then a mischievous little smile
parted the lips as she whispered:

“I am still a minor--what does my dear guardian command?”

Morton gave a quick step forward and gathered her into his arms. Her
face was hidden in his breast; she was safe in the harbor at last! He
held her for some moments when a timid voice muffled in the folds of
his coat came up to him:

“Mr. Morton--did you say those words because you pity me--because of
your promise to my father?”

“Pity you, my darling! Why, sweetheart, you are the greatest, noblest
gift God can bestow on any man. All my life I shall bless Him and thank
Him for the great boon he has vouchsafed me. The promise I gave your
father was given long after the sacred promise I had given myself--to
protect you always--as my dear wife.” Then in a softer voice: “But,
sweetheart--you must call me John.”

No reply, only sounds suspiciously like a child’s sobs, came from the
hidden face. Helène was weeping her tears of unspeakable happiness.
Morton gently lifted her head back and saw her face transfigured with
love. With reverent finality he kissed her moist lips as she murmured:

“My dear knight, without fear and without blemish.”

The shady porch is transmuted into an altar. Framed between the pillars
and above the balustrades, templelike, the blue vault of true heaven
looks down. In an air vibrating with a whispered symphony a little
butterfly alights on the seat--a harbinger of security. And over the
pair passes that happiness which the human heart knows but once in a
lifetime.

Through the shade of the lofty pillared portico Helène and John
entered the spacious reception hall of “Rhinecliff.” Helène was still
under the influence of the emotion aroused in her by the solemnity
of the last hour. She barely noticed the transition from the park to
the broad driveway, lined by ancient elms, leading to the commanding
terrace. Indeed, she could not have told how she reached the room to
which Morton’s guiding arm had led her. The dread which had possessed
her in the early morning had now returned with increased insistence;
so that when they stood before a handsome gray-haired lady, she heard
Morton’s voice as through a veil: “Mother, I have great pleasure in
bringing to you Comtesse Rondell.” She could just see the winning smile
upon the fresh face and hear the cordial words: “I am happy to welcome
you, Comtesse.” As in a dream she took the hand which was held out to
her, and mumbled a polite sentence, imagining, in her trepidation, an
investigating pause on the part of the elderly lady. Try as she would
she could not master her embarrassment; but her gentle breeding and
natural charms came to her aid, and she expressed eloquently what the
disobedient lips failed to say. She looked the pure girl she was. One
glance of Mrs. Morton’s approving eye was sufficient to take it all in.

“We entered through the South Gate, mother, and Comtesse Rondell
must be tired. She has agreed to stay for luncheon; I trust you will
persuade her to remain until after dinner.”

“Permit me to ring for the maid, Comtesse. You will require a rest
after your journey and the warm walk,” suggested the hostess.

“Hello, Ruth!” His sister had entered from an inner door. “Ruth, I want
you to meet Comtesse Rondell, a dear friend of mine--my sister Ruth,
Comtesse. I have often spoken of you, Ruth, to the Comtesse. I hope you
will be friends.”

Full of animation, Ruth came forward. A glance at Helène’s face caused
her to halt momentarily and to send an indignant look at her brother,
both of which actions escaped all but Helène. Then her willing hand
grasped Helène’s shy offering in a hearty clasp: “If the Comtesse is
minded like I am, it won’t take us long to be the best of friends.”

Helène reddened deeply, but this time the little dimples came into
play. The smiling eye veiled the recognition which the parted lips
were longing to betray: “Miss Morton, I shall be very happy if we are
friends.”

When the maid appeared, Ruth and the visitor were occupying seats next
to each other in a retired nook engrossed in a low-voiced conversation.
“Comtesse,” said Mrs. Morton, interrupting them, “Nettie will show you
to your room. Luncheon will be served in a few minutes.”

When Helène retired, John turned to his mother: “I hope, mother, you
will like Comtesse Helène. If you are disengaged before luncheon, I
should like to see you. Can you spare the time?”

“Certainly, my dear boy. You will find me in the lounging room. Was
the matter that kept you in town disagreeable, John?”

“Not at all, mother. I will tell you all about it. I shall put off my
Western trip, however, for the present.”

On his way to his room John was intercepted in the hall by his excited
sister. “John,” she hissed breathlessly. “I wouldn’t have believed it
of you! How could you be so mean?”

“I don’t understand you, sis. What have I done?”

“Couldn’t you wait until I had brought you two together? Who introduced
you to her?”

John looked his astonishment. “Do you refer to Comtesse Rondell? Why, I
met her abroad last year, through her father. What are you driving at,
little one?”

“Oh, John--this is too wonderful! You big stupid--don’t you see! The
Comtesse is my beautiful discovery of two days ago, the replica of
papa’s Gainsborough!”

At once John saw everything, even the ambiguous situation in which his
darling might find herself.

“Ruth, I didn’t dream of this! Please do not refer to it in any way. I
would not have Comtesse Helène embarrassed for anything in the world.
Promise, sis?”

“Sure, Jack, cross my heart! But, brother of mine, isn’t she all I said
she was?”

John laid his arm affectionately about his sister’s shoulder. “She
is all that, my dear, and more. Now, run off and be discreet.
And--Ruth--it is my dearest wish that you and Helène--the Comtesse, you
know--should be dear friends.”

“Oh! Does the wind blow from that quarter, Jack? I am so glad!” A
lightning-like hug, an ethereal kiss--and she was off!

In the lounging room, later, John sat facing his mother. The breeze
entering through the open Venetian windows relieved the noon heat,
but failed to lighten the task he had before him. Many a time had he
gone over this interview in his mind, always looking forward to it
with exultation. And now, when the moment had arrived, he felt greatly
ill-at-ease.

“Mother, dear--you may remember my telling you that I had met a lady
whom I hoped to win--that she had been lost to me. Well, I have
found her again. She is the Comtesse Rondell. I met her in New York
yesterday, quite by chance--and I have won her. Mother, I am very
happy. I want you to love her for my sake, though I know you will
gladly embrace her for her own virtues.”

John had spoken very earnestly. Mrs. Morton looked at her “boy” in
sheer astonishment. “John, my dearest boy--I don’t know what to say--it
has come so unexpectedly! Of course, John, I will do my best--she
certainly looks sweet. But, John....”

“Mother, you will love her and be proud of her when you see me the
blessedest man in America.”

Mrs. Morton’s eyes filled with tears. “Your happiness, John, dear, is
all I ask for.”

“Thank you, mother. And now will you do me a kindness? I have no ring
to give Helène. Can you give me one of yours?”

“Wait until after luncheon, John. Do you love her very much?” She
rose, floundering again on the verge of tears. The news had almost
overwhelmed the good lady; or was it jealous resentment or simply the
fear of the change that it would mean for her?

Morton rose quickly and, laying his hands affectionately upon his
mother’s shoulders said, with deep feeling: “Mother, I do. It is
not a momentary fancy or infatuation. When you know Helène, you will
understand that it was not her beauty only but her golden heart that
drew me to her. Mother, I feel blessed beyond all men that this heart
has been placed in my keeping.”

“Oh, John--I do hope it’s as you say. You must forgive me--I am
a little unnerved. If Comtesse Rondell should come down before I
return--will you excuse me to her, John? I shall be back shortly.”

Luncheon proved a very simple affair and the conversation which at the
beginning had rested upon Ruth’s shoulders soon became general and
animated. Helène, who sat at Mrs. Morton’s left, had lost her shyness
and entered into the spirit of the occasion with the tactful modesty
and grace of manners which never yet had failed to charm. Mrs. Morton’s
formal politeness gradually melted into admiration. She was evidently
charmed with the girl. John observed with lightened heart the approving
eye and the pleased expression on his mother’s face.

On rising from the table Mrs. Morton pleaded some duty and left the
young people to themselves on the porch. At once Ruth rose and took her
new friend by the arm. “Let’s leave John to his cigar, Helène (it had
been Helène after the first, of course), I want to show you my patch of
woods if you don’t mind the hot sun. Mother and John always talk shop
at this hour--even on a Sunday, I believe. Come, dear.”

John caught Helène’s eye and saw the look of relief and longing for
a respite to be enjoyed with her girl friend, and prudently resigned
himself.

It was not long before his mother came to him, smiling happily,
her cheeks faintly flushed. “The ring your father gave me upon our
engagement, John,” she whispered with a catch in her voice, handing him
a brilliant stone. And John knew all was well--Helène had won!

Ruth’s chatter became audible from the stairway, the clatter of
youthful feet resounded from the hall, and the two girls entered hand
in hand. Ruth looked first at John, then at her mother, and lastly at
Helène, who had remained somewhat in the rear. Drawing the hand she
held towards her, she encircled her friend’s waist with the other, and
curtesying in mock reverence, and with a well-assumed dignity, said: “I
have the honor to present to you both the Comtesse Helène Rondell--my
darling sister.” Then, running up to her brother she threw her arms
around him and gave him a resounding kiss. “My congratulations,
brother!”

Of course, after this, all ceremony had to be foregone. But it was Mrs.
Morton’s affectionate embrace of Helène which sealed the welcome. It
brought a great happiness to Ruth and John and a transcendent light
into Helène’s girlish face.

At dinner John announced that Helène would return to New York that
night and that he would escort her home. It was, indeed, a happy meal
for these four--now reunited in love.

Later they were sitting on the porch enjoying the lovely evening over
their coffee. Faint stars were beginning to twinkle and the air had the
warmth which comes with the dying summer.

“John,” broke in Ruth, “it’s a glorious evening; you should show Helène
the hill-view from the east loggia. I will let you know when the
carriage drives up.”

John stood with his beloved in the dusk of the protected wing. Below
them the evening haze of autumn enveloped the valley and slopes,
leaving a clear outline of wooded hillside against the bright glow
whence the rising moon was promised. From the distance blinked
occasional gleams of light marking dwellings here and there. Out of
the darkened lawn came the song of crickets and the whisper of the
invisible night life. It was the very time and place for our fairy.
Surely he was behind that dusky bed of cannas, crouching under the
giant leaf of that caladium!

Helène sat supported by John’s strong arm, and over both surged a flood
of golden memories. She was the first to break the stillness:

“Mr. Morton--John--you are so very rich and powerful. I did not dream
of it. And I--I have nothing--not even a _dot_! Is it right that I
permit myself to love you? Will you not regret it, some day?”

John tightened the arm round her shoulder, and gave a love chuckle.
“Darling, the girls of our country never have _dots_, even if their
parents have sinful wealth. And you--the good God has given you wealth
beyond compare. He has given you a heart finer than gold, beauty rarer
than a vision. And ... I love you, Helène, I love you.”

She drew herself closer to his breast and gave a faint sigh of
ineffable content. “If papa could know, John,” she said softly.

“I think he does know, sweetheart, and is smiling down on us. See,
Helène, there is my faithful ally, the ‘Great Bear.’ He kept his
promise and spoke for me.”

“You mean the ‘Big Dipper,’ John,” said Helène with a smile. “He has
been my good friend also. Other girls may have a star of destiny; but
I--I have seven!”

The fairy behind the cannas rubbed his palms together in great
glee--and grinned.

With faces upturned they stood as if listening for the message of
promise from the twinkling stars, their souls in union--the brave
hearts tried, the abiding love tested. It was the last day of summer;
but for these two happy ones, it was the dawn of eternal spring!

A door slammed and energetic heels tatooed a warning. Ruth’s form stood
outlined against the dimly lighted glass door.

“Children,” she called out in her fresh, cheery voice, “the moon will
be up in five minutes--and your carriage is coming up the drive!”

Transcriber’s note:

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.


not most commonly modest, except when in a cause of accusation we strive
to irritate the minds of the judges? Are we not copious and explicit in
narration; in arguments animated and lively, even showing animation in
our actions; in common places and descriptions, exuberant and lavish of
ornaments; and in perorations, for the most part weighed down by
distress? Of the variety which ought to be in a discourse, we may find
another parallel instance in the motions of the body. With all of them,
do not the circumstances regulate their respective degrees of slowness
and celerity? And for dancing as well as singing, does not music use
numbers of which the beating of the time makes us sensible? As our voice
and action are indeed expressive of our inner feelings in regard to the
nature of the things of which we speak, need we, then, be surprized if a
like conformity ought to be found in the feet that enter into the
composition of a piece of eloquence? Ought not sublime matters be made
to walk in majestic solemnity, the mild to keep in a gentle pace, the
brisk and lively to bound with rapidity, and the nice and delicate to
flow smoothly?

FAULTS IN COMPOSITION

If faults in composition be unavoidable, I should rather give preference
to that which is harsh and rough than to that which is nerveless and
weak, the results of an affected style that many now study, and which
constantly corrupts, more and more, by a wantonness in numbers more
becoming a dance than the majesty of eloquence. But I can not say that
any composition is good, however perfect otherwise, which constantly
presents the same form, and continually falls into the same feet. A
constant observing of similar measures and cadences, is a kind of
versification, and all prose in which this fault is discoverable, can
have no allowance made for it, by reason of its manifest affectation
(the very suspicion of which ought to be avoided), and its uniformity,
which, of course, must fatigue and disgust the mind. This vice may have
some engaging charms at first sight, but the greater its sweets are, the
shorter will be their continuance; and the orator once detected of any
anxious concern in this respect, will instantly lose all belief that has
been placed in him, and vainly will he strive to make on others' minds
the impressions he expected to make; for how is it to be expected that
a judge will believe a man, or permit himself to feel grief or anger on
account of one whom he observes to have attended to nothing more than
the display of such trifles? Some of the connections of smooth
composition ought, therefore, to be designedly broken, and it is no
small labor to make them appear not labored.

Let us not be such slaves to the placing of words as to study
transpositions longer than necessary, lest what we do in order to
please, may displease by being affected. Neither let a fondness for
making the composition flow with smoothness, prevail on us to set aside
a word otherwise proper and becoming; as no word, in reality, can prove
disagreeable enough to be wholly excluded, unless it be that in the
avoiding of such words we consult mere beauty of expression rather than
the good of composition.

To conclude, composition ought to be graceful, agreeable, varied. Its
parts are three: order, connection, number. Its art consists in adding,
retrenching, changing. Its qualities are according to the nature of the
things discust. The care in composition ought to be great, but not to
take the place of care in thinking and speaking. What deserves to be
particularly attended to is the concealing of the care of composition,
that the numbers may seem to flow of their own accord, and not with the
least constraint or affectation.

COPIOUSNESS OF WORDS

Eloquence will never be solid and robust, unless it collects strength
and consistence from much writing and composing; and without examples
from reading, that labor will go astray for lack of a guide; and tho it
be known how everything ought to be said, yet the orator who is not
possest of a talent for speaking, always ready to exert himself on
occasion, will be like a man watching over a hidden treasure.

Our orator, who we suppose is familiar with the way of inventing and
disposing things, of making a choice of words, and placing them in
proper order, requires nothing further than the knowledge of the means
whereby in the easiest and best manner he may execute what he has
learned. It can not, then, be doubted that he must acquire a certain
stock of wealth in order to have it ready for use when needed, and this
stock of wealth consists of a plentiful supply of things and words.

THE RIGHT WORD IN THE RIGHT PLACE

Things are peculiar to each cause, or common to few; but a provision of
words must be made indiscriminately for all subjects. If each word were
precisely significant of each thing, our perplexity would be less, as
then words would immediately present themselves with things, but some
being more proper than others, or more ornamental, or more emphatic, or
more harmonious, all ought not only to be known but to be kept ready and
in sight, as it were, that when they present themselves for the
orator's selection, he easily may make a choice of the best.

I know that some make a practise of classing together all synonymous
words and committing them to memory, so that out of so many at least one
may more easily come to mind; and when they have used a word, and
shortly after need it again, to avoid repetition they take another of
the same significance. This is of little or no use, for it is only a
crowd that is mustered together, out of which the first at hand is taken
indifferently, whereas the copiousness of language of which I speak is
to be the result of acquisition of judgment in the use of words, with
the view of attaining the true expressive force of eloquence, and not
empty volubility of speech. This can be affected only by hearing and
reading the best things; and it is only by giving it our attention that
we shall know not only the appellations of things, but what is fittest
for every place.

THE VALUE OF HEARING SPEAKERS

With some eloquent compositions we may derive more profit by reading
them, but with some others, more by hearing them pronounced. The speaker
keeps awake all our senses, and inspires us by the fire that animates
him. We are struck, not by the image and exterior of things, but by the
things themselves. All is life and motion, and with solicitude for his
success, we favorably receive all he says, its appeal to us lying in the
charm of novelty. Together with the orator, we find ourselves deeply
interested in the issue of the trial and the safety of the parties whose
defense he has undertaken. Besides these we find that other things
affect us: a fine voice, a graceful action corresponding with what is
said, and a manner of pronunciation, which perhaps is the most powerful
ornament of eloquence; in short, everything conducted and managed in the
way that is most fitting.

THE ADVANTAGES OF READING

In reading, our judgment goes upon surer ground, because often our good
wishes for the speaker, or the applause bestowed on him, surprizes us
into approbation. We are ashamed to differ in opinion from others, and
by a sort of secret bashfulness are kept from believing ourselves more
intelligent than they are; tho indeed we are aware, at the same time,
that the taste of the greater number is vicious, and that sycophants,
even persons hired to applaud, praise things which can not please us;
as, on the other hand, it also happens that a bad taste can have no
relish for the best things. Reading is attended, besides, with the
advantage of being free, and not escaping us by the rapidity which
accompanies action; and we may go over the same things often, should we
doubt their accuracy, or wish to fix them in our memories. Repeating and
reviewing will, therefore, be highly necessary; for as meats are chewed
before they descend into the stomach, in order to facilitate their
digestion, so reading is fittest for being laid up in the memory, that
it may be an object of imitation when it is no longer in a crude state
but has been softened and elaborated by long meditation.

HOW TO READ MOST PROFITABLY

None, however, but the best authors, and such as we are least liable to
be deceived in, demand this care, which should be diligent and extended
even almost to the point of taking the pains to transcribe them. Nor
ought judgment to be passed on the whole from examining a part, but
after the book has been fully perused, it should have a second reading;
especially should this be done with an oration, the perfections of which
are often designedly kept concealed. The orator, indeed, often prepares,
dissembles, lies in wait, and says things in the first part of the
pleading which he avails himself of in the last part. They may,
therefore, be less pleasing in their place, while we still remain
ignorant of the purpose for their being said. For this reason, after a
due consideration of particulars, it would not be amiss to re-read the
whole.

WHAT TO READ

Theophrastus says that the reading of poetry is of vast service to the
orator. Many, and with good reason, are of the same opinion, as from the
poets may be derived sprightliness in thought, sublimity in expression,
force and variety in sentiment, propriety and decorum in character,
together with that diversion for cheering and freshening minds which
have been for any time harassed by the drudgery of the bar.

Let it be remembered, however, that poets are not in all things to be
imitated by the orator, neither in the liberty of words, nor license of
figures. The whole of that study is calculated for ostentation. Its sole
aim is pleasure, and it invariably pursues it, by fictions of not only
what is false, but of some things that are incredible. It is sure, also,
of meeting with partizans to espouse its cause, because, since it is
bound down to a certain necessity of feet it can not always use proper
words, and being driven out of the straight road, must turn into byways
of speaking, and be compelled to change some words, and to lengthen,
shorten, transpose and divide them. As for orators, they must stand
their ground completely armed in the order of battle, and having to
fight for matters of the highest consequence, must think of nothing but
gaining the victory.

Still would I not have their armor appear squalid and covered with rust,
but retain rather a brightness that dismays, such as of polished steel,
striking both the mind and eyes with awe, and not the splendor of gold
and silver, a weak safeguard, indeed, and rather dangerous to the
bearer.

History, likewise, by its mild and grateful sap may afford kind
nutriment to an oratorical composition. Yet the orator should so read
history as to be convinced that most of its perfections ought to be
avoided by him. It nearly borders upon poetry, and may be held as a
poem, unrestrained by the laws of verse. Its object is to narrate, and
not to prove, and its whole business neither intends action nor
contention, but to transmit facts to posterity, and enhance the
reputation of its author.

In the reading of history there is another benefit, and indeed the
greatest, but one not relative to the present subject. This proceeds
from the knowledge of things and examples, which the orator ought to be
well versed in, so that not all his testimonies may be from the parties,
but many of them may be taken from antiquity, with which, through
history, he will be well acquainted; these testimonies being the more
powerful, as they are exempt from suspicion of prejudice and partiality.

I shall venture to say that there are few which have stood the test of
time, that may not be read with some profit by the judicious. Cicero
himself confesses that he received great help from old authors, who
were, indeed, very ingenious but were deficient in art. Before I speak
of the respective merit of authors, I must make, in a few words, some
general reflections on the diversity of taste in regard to matters of
eloquence. Some think that the ancients deserve to be read, believing
that they alone have distinguished themselves by natural eloquence and
that strength of language so becoming men. Others are captivated with
the flowery profusion of the orators of the present age, with their
delicate turns, and with all the blandishments they skilfully invent to
charm the ears of an ignorant multitude. Some choose to follow the plain
and direct way of speaking. Others take to be sound and truly Attic
whatever is close, neat, and departs but little from ordinary
conversation. Some are delighted with a more elevated, more impetuous,
and more fiery force of genius. Others, and not a few, like a smooth,
elegant, and polite manner. I shall speak of this difference in taste
more fully when I come to examine the style which may seem most proper
for the orator.

QUALITIES OF CLASSIC WRITERS

_Homer_

We may begin properly with Homer.

He it is who gave birth to, and set the example for all parts of
eloquence, in the same way, as he himself says, as the course of rivers
and springs of fountains owe their origin to the ocean. No one, in great
subjects, has excelled him in elevation; nor in small subjects, in
propriety. He is florid and close, grave and agreeable, admirable for
his concise as well as for his copious manner, and is not only eminent
for poetical, but likewise oratorical, abilities.

_Æschylus_

Æschylus is the one who gave birth to tragedy. He is sublime, and grave,
and often pompous to a fault. But his plots are mostly ill-contrived and
as ill-conducted. For which reason the Athenians permitted the poets who
came after him to correct his pieces and fit them for the stage, and in
this way many of these poets received the honor of being crowned.

_Sophocles and Euripides_

Sophocles and Euripides brought tragedy to greater perfection; but the
difference in their manner has occasioned dispute among the learned as
to their relative poetic merits. For my part, I shall leave the matter
undecided, as having nothing to do with my present purpose. It must be
confest, nevertheless, that the study of Euripedes will be of much
greater value to those who are preparing themselves for the bar; for
besides the fact that his style comes nearer the oratorical style, he
likewise abounds in fine thoughts, and in philosophic maxims is almost
on an equality with philosophers, and in his dialog may be compared with
the best speakers at the bar. He is wonderful, again, for his masterly
strokes in moving the passions, and more especially in exciting
sympathy.

_Thucydides and Herodotus_

There have been many famous writers of history, but all agree in giving
the preference to two, whose perfections, tho different, have received
an almost equal degree of praise. Thucydides is close, concise, and ever
pressing on. Herodotus is sweet, natural, and copious. One is remarkable
for his animated expression of the more impetuous passions, the other
for gentle persuasion in the milder: the former succeeds in harangues
and has more force; the other surpasses in speeches of familiar
intercourse, and gives more pleasure.

_Demosthenes_

A numerous band of orators follows, for Athens produced ten of them,
contemporary with one another. Demosthenes was by far the chief of them,
and in a manner held to be the only model for eloquence; so great is
his force; so closely together are all things interwoven in his
discourse, and attended with a certain self-command; so great is his
accuracy, he never adopting any idle expression; and so just his
precision that nothing lacking, nothing redundant, can be found in him.
Æschines is more full, more diffusive, and appears the more grand, as he
has more breadth. He has more flesh, but not so many sinews.

_Lysias and Isocrates_

Lysias, older than these, is subtle and elegant, and if it is enough for
the orator to instruct, none could be found more perfect than he is.
There is nothing idle, nothing far-fetched in him; yet is he more like a
clear brook than a great river. Isocrates, in a different kind of
eloquence, is fine and polished, and better adapted for engaging in a
mock than a real battle. He was attentive to all the beauties of
discourse, and had his reasons for it, having intended his eloquence for
schools and not for contentions at the bar. His invention was easy, he
was very fond of graces and embellishments, and so nice was he in his
composition that his extreme care is not without reprehension.

_Plato_

Among philosophers, by whom Cicero confesses he has been furnished with
many resourceful aids to eloquence, who doubts that Plato is the chief,
whether we consider the acuteness of his dissertations, or his divine
Homerical faculty of elocution? He soars high above prose, and even
common poetry, which is poetry only because comprised in a certain
number of feet; and he seems to me not so much endowed with the wit of
a man, as inspired by a sort of Delphic oracle.

_Xenophon_

What shall I say of Xenophon's unaffected agreeableness, so unattainable
by any imitation that the Graces themselves seem to have composed his
language? The testimony of the ancient comedy concerning Pericles, is
very justly applicable to him, "That the Goddess of Persuasion had
seated herself on his lips."

_Aristotle and Theophrastus_

And what shall I say of the elegance of the other disciples of Socrates?
What of Aristotle? I am at a loss to know what most to admire in him,
his vast and profound erudition, or the great number of his writings, or
his pleasing style and manner, or the inventions and penetration of his
wit, or the variety of his works. And as to Theophrastus, his elocution
has something so noble and so divine that it may be said that from these
qualities came his name.

_Vergil_

In regard to our Roman authors, we can not more happily begin than with
Vergil, who of all their poets and ours in the epic style, is without
any doubt the one who comes nearest to Homer. Tho obliged to give way to
Homer's heavenly and immortal genius, yet in Vergil are to be found a
greater exactness and care, it being incumbent on him to take more
pains; so that what we lose on the side of eminence of qualities, we
perhaps gain on that of justness and equability.

_Cicero_

I proceed to our orators, who likewise may put Roman eloquence upon a
par with the Grecian. Cicero I would strenuously oppose against any of
them, tho conscious of the quarrel I should bring upon myself by
comparing him with Demosthenes in a time so critical as this; especially
as my subject does not oblige me to it, neither is it of any
consequence, when it is my real opinion that Demosthenes ought to be
particularly read, or, rather, committed to memory.

I must say, notwithstanding, that I judge them to be alike in most of
the great qualities they possest; alike in design, disposition, manner
of dividing, of preparing minds, of proving, in short in everything
belonging to invention. In elocution there is some difference. The one
is more compact, the other more copious; the one closes in with his
opponent, the other allows him more ground to fight in; the one is
always subtle and keen in argument, the other is perhaps less so, but
often has more weight; from the one nothing can be retrenched, neither
can anything be added to the other; the one has more study, the other
more nature.

Still ought we to yield, if for no other reason than because Demosthenes
lived before Cicero, and because the Roman orator, however great, is
indebted for a large part of his merit to the Athenian. For it seems to
me that Cicero, having bent all his thoughts on the Greeks, toward
forming himself on their model, had at length made constituents of his
character the force of Demosthenes, the abundance of Plato, and the
sweetness of Isocrates. Nor did he only, by his application, extract
what was best in these great originals, but by the happy fruitfulness of
his immortal genius he himself produced the greater part, or rather all,
of these same perfections. And to make use of an expression of Pindar,
he does not collect the water from rains to remedy a natural dryness,
but flows continually, himself, from a source of living waters, and
seems to have existed by a peculiar gift of Providence, that in him
eloquence might make trial of her whole strength and her most powerful
exertions.

For who can instruct with more exactness, and move with more vehemence?
What orator ever possest so pleasing a manner that the very things he
forcibly wrests from you, you fancy you grant him; and when by his
violence he carries away the judge, yet does the judge seem to himself
to obey his own volition, and not to be swept away by that of another?
Besides, in all he says there is so much authority and weight that you
are ashamed to differ from him in opinion; and it is not the zeal of an
advocate you find in him, but rather the faith and sincerity of a
witness or judge. And what, at the same time, is more admirable, all
these qualities, any one of which could not be attained by another
without infinite pains, seem to be his naturally; so that his
discourses, the most charming, the most harmonious, which possibly can
be heard, retain, notwithstanding, so great an air of happy ease that
they seem to have cost him nothing.

With good reason, therefore, is he said by his contemporaries to reign
at the bar, and he has so far gained the good graces of posterity that
Cicero is now less the name of a man than the name of eloquence itself.
Let us then keep him in view, let him be our model, and let that orator
think he has made considerable progress who has once conceived a love
and taste for Cicero.

_Cæsar_

If Cæsar had made the bar his principal occupation, no other of our
orators could better have disputed the prize of eloquence with Cicero.
So great is his force, so sharp his wit, so active his fire, that it
plainly appears he spoke with as much spirit as he fought. A wonderful
elegance and purity of language, which he made his particular study,
were a further embellishment of all these talents for eloquence.

_Philosophers_

It remains only to speak of those who have written on subjects of
philosophy. Hitherto we have had but few of this kind. Cicero, as in
all other respects, so also in this, was a worthy rival of Plato. Brutus
has written some excellent treatises, the merit of which is far superior
to that of his orations. He supports admirably well the weight of his
matter, and seems to feel what he says. Cornelius Celsus, in the manner
of the Skeptics, has written a good many tracts, which are not without
elegance and perspicuity. Plancus, among the Stoics, may be read with
profit, for the sake of becoming acquainted with the things he
discusses. Catius, an Epicurean, has some levity in his way, but in the
main is not an unpleasing author.

_Seneca_

I have designedly omitted speaking hitherto of Seneca,--who was
proficient in all kinds of eloquence,--on account of the false opinion
people entertained that I not only condemned his writings, but also
personally hated him. I drew this aspersion upon myself by my endeavor
to bring over eloquence to a more austere taste, which had been
corrupted and enervated by very many softnesses and delicacies. Then
Seneca was almost the only author young people read with pleasure. I did
not strive to exclude him absolutely, but could not bear that he should
be preferred to others much better, whom he took all possible pains to
cry down, because he was conscious that he had taken to a different
manner from their way of writing, and he could not otherwise expect to
please people who had a taste for these others. It was Seneca's lot,
however, to be more loved than imitated, and his partizans run as wide
from him as he himself had fallen from the ancients. Yet it were to be
wished that they had proved themselves like, or had come near, him. But
they were fond of nothing in him but his faults, and every one strove to
copy them if he could. Then priding themselves on speaking like Seneca,
of course they could not avoid bringing him into disgrace.

His perfections, however, were many and great. His wit was easy and
fruitful, his erudition considerable, his knowledge extensive--in which
last point he sometimes was led into mistakes, probably by those whom he
had charged to make researches for him. There is hardly a branch of
study on which he has not written something; for we have his orations,
his poems, epistles, and dialogs. In philosophic matters he was not so
accurate, but was admirable for his invectives against vice.

He has many bright thoughts, and many things are well worth reading in
him for improvement of the moral character; but his elocution is, for
the most part, corrupt, and the more dangerous because its vices are of
a sweet and alluring nature. One could wish he had written with his own
genius and another's judgment. For if he had rejected some things, if he
had less studiously affected some engaging beauties, if he had not been
overfond of all his productions, if he had not weakened the importance
of his matter by frivolous thoughts, he would have been honored by the
approbation of the learned rather than by the love of striplings.

However, such as he is, he may be read when the taste is formed and
strengthened by a more austere kind of eloquence, if for no other
reason than because he can exercise judgment on both sides. For, as I
have said, many things in him are worthy of praise, worthy even of
admiration if a proper choice had been made, which I wish he had made
himself, as indeed that nature is deserving of an inclination to embrace
what is better, which has ability to effect anything to which it
inclines.

KNOWLEDGE AND SELF-CONFIDENCE

Knowledge of the civil law will, likewise, be necessary for the orator
whom we have described, and together with it knowledge of the customs
and religion of the commonwealth of which he may take charge, for how
shall he be able to give counsel in public and private deliberations if
ignorant of the many things which happen together particularly to the
establishment of the State? And must he not falsely aver himself to be
the patron of the causes he undertakes, if obliged to borrow from
another what is of greatest consequence in these causes, in some measure
like those who repeat the writings of poets? And how will he accomplish
what he has so undertaken if the things which he requires the judge to
believe, he shall speak on the faith of another, and if he, the reputed
helper of his clients, shall himself stand in need of the help of
another?

THOROUGH INFORMATION INDISPENSABLE

But we will suppose him not reduced to this inconvenience, having
studied his cause sufficiently at home, and having thoroughly informed
himself of all that he has thought proper to lay before the judges: yet
what shall become of him when unforeseen questions arise, which often
are suddenly started on the back of pleadings? Will he not with great
unseemliness look about him? Will he not ask the lower class of
advocates how he shall behave? Can he be accurate in comprehending the
things then whispered to him, when he is to speak on them instantly?
Can he strongly affirm, or speak ingenuously for his clients? Grant that
he may in his pleadings, but what shall be his fate in altercation, when
he must have his answer ready and he has no time for receiving
information? And what if a person learned in the law is not assisting?
What if one who knows little of the matter tells him something that is
wrong? And this is the greatest mischief in ignorance, to believe such a
monitor intelligent.

Now, as we suppose the orator to be a particularly learned and honest
man, when he has made sufficient study of that which naturally is best,
it will give him little trouble if a lawyer dissents from him in
opinion, since even they are admitted to be of different opinions among
themselves. But if he desires to know their sentiments on any point of
law, he need only read a little, which is the least laborious part of
study. If many men who despaired of acquiring the necessary talents for
speaking in public, have engaged in the study of law, with how much more
ease will the orator effect this, which may be learned by those who from
their own confession could not be orators?

M. Cato was as much distinguished by his great eloquence as by his great
learning in the law. Scævola and Servius Sulpitius, both eminent
lawyers, were also very eloquent. Cicero not only in pleading never
appeared at a loss in knowledge of the law, but also began to write some
tracts on it. From all these examples it appears that an orator may not
less attend to the teaching than the learning of it.

THE MANNER OF THE SPEAKER

I would not have him who is to speak rise unconcerned, show no change of
color, and betray no sense of danger,--if they do not happen naturally,
they ought at least to be pretended. But this sense should proceed from
solicitude for performing well our duty, not from a motive of fear; and
we may decently betray emotion, but not faint away. The best remedy,
therefore, for bashfulness, is a modest assurance, and however weak the
forehead may be, it ought to be lifted up, and well it may by conscious
merit.

THE NEED OF GOOD DELIVERY

There are natural aids, as specified before, which are improved by care,
and these are the voice, lungs, a good presence, and graceful action,
which are advantages sometimes so considerable as to beget a reputation
for wit. Our age produced orators more copious than Trachallus, but when
he spoke he seemed to surpass them all, so great was the advantage of
his stature, the sprightliness of his glance, the majesty of his aspect,
the beauty of his action, and a voice, not as Cicero desires it should
be, but almost like that of tragedians, and surpassing all the
tragedians I ever heard. I well remember that when he once pleaded in
the Julian Hall before the first bench of judges, and there also, as
usual, the four classes of judges were then sitting, and the whole place
rang with noise, he was not only heard distinctly from the four benches,
but also was applauded, which was a disparagement to those who spoke
after him. But this is the accumulation of what can be wished for, and a
happiness hard to be met with, and as it can not fall to every one's
lot, let the orator strive at least to make himself heard by those
before whom he speaks.

THE TEST OF AN ORATION

Above all, as happens to a great many, let not desire for temporary
praise keep our orator from having an eye to the interest of the cause
he has undertaken. For as generals in waging wars do not always march
their armies over pleasant plains, but often must climb rugged hills,
must lay siege to forts and castles raised on steep rocks and mountains,
and fortified both by nature and by art: so an orator will be pleased
with an opportunity to make great excursions, and when he engages on
champion ground, he will display all his forces so as to make an
exceedingly fine appearance; but if under the necessity of unraveling
the intricacies of some points of law, or placing truth in a clear
light from amidst the obscurity thrown around it, he will not then
ostentatiously ride about, nor will he use a shower of pointed
sentences, as missive weapons; but he will carry on his operations by
frustrating his enemy; by mines, by ambuscade, and by stratagem: all of
which are not much to be commended while they are being used, but after
they have been practised. Whence those men benefit themselves most, who
seem least desirous of praise; for when the frivolous parade of
eloquence has ceased its bursts of thunder among its own applauders, the
more potent applause of true talents will appear in genuine splendor;
the judges will not conceal the impressions which have been made on
them; the sense of the learned will outweigh the opinion of ignorance:
so true it is that it is the winding up of the discourse, and the
success attending it, that must prove its true merit.

AVOIDING OSTENTATION

It was customary with the ancients to hide their eloquence; and M.
Antonius advises orators so to do, in order that they may be the more
believed, and that their stratagems may be less suspected. But the
eloquence of those times could well be concealed, not yet having made an
accession of so many luminaries as to break out through every
intervening obstacle to the transmission of their light. But indeed all
art and design should be kept concealed, as most things when once,
discovered lose their value. In what I have hitherto spoken of,
eloquence loves nothing else so much as privacy. A choice of words,
weight of thought, elegance of figures, either do not exist, or they
appear. But because they appear, they are not therefore to be displayed
with ostentation. Or if one of the two is to be chosen, let the cause
rather than the advocate be praised; still the issue will justify him,
by his having pleaded excellently a very good cause. It is certain that
no one else pleads so ill as he who endeavors to please, while his cause
displeases; because the things by which he pleases must necessarily be
foreign to his subject.

The orator ought not to be so particular and vain as not to undertake
the pleading of the smaller kind of causes, as beneath him, or as if a
matter of less consequence should in any respect lessen the reputation
he has acquired. Duty indeed is a just motive for his undertaking them,
and he should wish that his friends were never engaged in any other
kind of suits, which in the main are set off with sufficient eloquence
when he has spoken to the purpose.

DO NOT ABUSE YOUR OPPONENT

Some are very liberal in abuse of the advocate of the opposing party,
but unless he has brought it upon himself, I think it is acting very
ungenerously by him, in consideration of the common duties of the
profession. Add to this that these sallies of passion are of no
advantage whatever to him who pleads, the opponent having, in his turn,
an equal right to abuse; and they may even be harmful to the cause,
because the opponent, spurred on to become a real enemy, musters
together all the forces of wit to conquer if possible. Above all, that
modesty is irrecoverably lost which procures for the orator so much
authority and belief, if once departing from the character of a good
man, he degenerates into a brawler and barker, conforming himself not to
the disposition of the judge, but to the caprice and resentment of the
client.

Taking liberties of this kind frequently leads the orator to hazard some
rash expressions not less dangerous to the cause than to himself.
Pericles was accustomed to wish, with good reason, that no word might
ever enter his mind which could give umbrage to the people. But the
respect he had for the people ought in my opinion to be had for all, who
may have it in their power to do as much hurt; for the words that seemed
strong and bold when exprest, are called foolish when they have given
offense.

THOROUGH PREPARATION ESSENTIAL

As every orator is remarkable for his manner, the care of one having
been imputed to slowness, and the facility of another to rashness, it
may not be amiss to point out here a medium. Let him come for pleading
prepared with all possible care, as it must argue not only neglect, but
also a wicked and treacherous disposition in him, to plead worse than he
can in the cause he undertakes, therefore he should not undertake more
causes than he is well able to handle.

He should say things, studied and written, in as great a degree as the
subject can bear, and, as Demosthenes says, deeply engraven, if it were
possible, on his memory, and as perfect as may be. This may be done at
the first pleading of a cause, and when in public judgments a cause is
adjourned for some time before it comes to a rehearsing. But when a
direct reply is to be made, due preparations are impracticable; and even
they who are not so ready find what they have written to be rather a
prejudice to them if anything unexpectedly is brought forward; for it is
with reluctance that they part with what they have prepared, and keeping
it in mind during the whole pleading, they are forced to continually
wonder if anything can be taken from it to be included in what they are
obliged to speak extempore. And tho this may be done, there will still
be a lack of connection, and the incoherence will be discoverable from
the different coloring and inequality of style. Thus there is neither an
uninterrupted fluency in what they say extempore, nor a connection
between it and what they recite from memory, for which reason one must
be a hindrance to the other, for the written matter will always bring
to it the attention of the mind, and scarcely ever follow it. Therefore
in these actions, as country-laboring men say, we must stand firmly on
our legs. For, as every cause consists of proving and refuting, whatever
regards the first may be written, and whatever it is certain the
opponent will answer, as sometimes it is certain what he will, may be
refuted with equal care and study.

Knowing the cause well is one essential point for being prepared in
other respects, and listening attentively to all the opponent states, is
another. Still we may previously think of many particular incidents and
prepare the mind for all emergencies, this being of special advantage in
speaking, the thought being thereby the more easily transmitted and
transferred.

But when in answering or otherwise there may be necessity for extempore
speaking, the orator will never find himself at a loss and disconcerted,
who has been prepared by discipline, and study, and exercise, with the
powers of facility, and who, as always under arms and ready for
engaging, will no more lack a sufficient flow of speech in the pleading
of causes than he does in conversation on daily and domestic
occurrences; neither will he ever, for lack of coming duly prepared,
decline burdening himself with a cause, if he has time to learn the
state of it, for with anything else he always will be well
acquainted.

CONCLUSION

The orator having distinguished himself by these perfections of
eloquence at the bar, in counsels, in the assemblies of the people, in
the senate, and in all the duties of a good citizen, ought to think,
likewise, of making an end worthy of an honest man and the sanctity of
his ministry: not that during the course of his life he ought to cease
being of service to society, or that, endowed with such integrity of
mind and such talent of eloquence, he can continue too long in the
exercise of so noble an employment; but because it is fitting that he
should guard against degrading his character, by doing anything which
may fall short of what he has already done. The orator is indebted for
what he is, not only to knowledge, which increases with his years, but
to his voice, lungs, and strength of body; and when the latter are
impaired by years, or debilitated by infirmities, it is to be feared
that something might be lacking in this great man, either from his
stopping short through fatigue, and out of breath at every effort, or by
not making himself sufficiently heard, or, lastly, by expecting, and not
finding, him to be what he formerly was.

When the orator does sound a retreat, no less ample fruits of study will
attend on him. He either will write the history of his time for the
instruction of posterity, or he will explain the law to those who came
to ask his advice, or he will write a treatise on eloquence, or that
worthy mouth of his will employ itself in inculcating the finest moral
precepts. As was customary with the ancients, well-disposed youth will
frequent his house, consulting him as an oracle on the true manner of
speaking. As the parent of eloquence will he form them, and as an old
experienced pilot will he give them an account of shores, and harbors,
and what are the presages of storms, and what may be required for
working the ship in contrary or favorable winds. To all this will he be
induced not only by a duty of humanity common to mankind, but also by a
certain pleasure in it; for no one would be glad to see an art going
into decay, in which he himself excelled, and what is more laudable than
to teach others that in which one is perfectly skilled?

For all I know, the happiest time in an orator's life is when he has
retired from the world to devote himself to rest; and, remote from envy,
and remote from strife, he looks back on his reputation, as from a
harbor of safety; and while still living has a sense of that veneration
which commonly awaits only the dead; thus anticipating the pleasure of
the noble impression posterity will conceive of him. I am conscious that
to the extent of my poor ability, whatever I knew before, and whatever I
could collect for the service of this work, I have candidly and
ingenuously made a communication of, for the instruction of those who
might be willing to reap any advantage from it: and it is enough for an
honest man to have taught what he knows.

To be good men, which is the first and most important thing, consists
chiefly in the will, and whoever has a sincere desire to be a man of
integrity, will easily learn the arts that teach virtue; and these arts
are not involved in so many perplexities, neither are they of such
great number, as not to be learned by a few years' application. The
ordering of an upright and happy life is attainable by an easy and
compendious method, when inclination is not lacking. Nature begot us
with the best dispositions, and it is so easy to the well-inclined to
learn that which is good, that we can not help being surprized, on
making a due estimate of things, how there can be so many bad persons in
the world. For, as water is naturally a proper element for fish, dry
land for quadrupeds, and air for birds, so indeed it ought to be more
easy to live according to the prescript of nature than to infringe her
laws.

As to the rest, tho we might measure our age, not by the space of more
advanced years, but by the time of youth, we should find that we had
quite years enough for learning, all things being made shorter by
order, method, and the manner of application. To bring the matter home
to our oratorical studies, of what significance is the custom which I
see kept up by many, of declaiming so many years in schools, and of
expending so much labor on imaginary subjects, when in a moderate time
the rules of eloquence may be learned, and pursuant to their directions,
a real image framed of the contests at the bar? By this I do not mean to
hint in the least that exercises for speaking should ever be
discontinued, but rather that none should grow old in any one particular
exercise for that purpose, for we may require the knowledge of many
sciences, and learn the precepts of morality, and exercise ourselves in
such causes as are agitated at the bar, even while we continue in the
state of scholars. And indeed the art of oratory is such as need not
require many years for learning it. Each of the arts I have mentioned
may be abridged into few books, there being no occasion to consider them
so minutely and so much in detail. Practise remains, which soon makes us
well skilled in them. Knowledge of things is increasing daily, and yet
books are not so many; it is necessary to read in order to acquire this
knowledge, of which either examples as to the things themselves may be
met with in history, or the eloquent expression of them may be found in
orators. It is also necessary that we should read the opinions of
philosophers and lawyers, with some other things deserving of notice.

TAKING TIME FOR STUDY

All this indeed may be compassed, but we ourselves are the cause of our
not having time enough. How small a portion of it do we allot to our
studies! A good part of it is spent in frivolous compliments and paying
and returning visits, a good part of it is taken up in the telling of
idle stories, a good part at the public spectacles, and a good part in
the pleasures of the table. Add to these our great variety of
amusements, and that extravagant indulgence we bestow upon our bodies.
One time we must go on a course of travels, another time we wish
recreation amidst the pleasures of rural life, and another time we are
full of painful solicitude regarding the state of our fortune,
calculating and balancing our loss and gain; and together with these,
how often do we give ourselves up to the intoxication of wine, and in
what a multiplicity of voluptuousness does our profligate mind suffer
itself to be immersed? Should there be an interval for study amidst
these avocations, can it be said to be proper? But were we to devote all
this idle or ill-spent time to study, should we not find life long
enough and time more than enough for becoming learned? This is evident
by only computing the time of the day, besides the advantages of the
night, of which a good part is more than sufficient for sleep. But we
now preposterously compute not the years we have studied, but the years
we have lived. Tho geometricians and grammarians, and the professors of
other arts, spent all their lives, however long, in treating and
discussing their respective arts, does it thence follow that we must
have as many lives as there are things to be learned? But they did not
extend the learning of them to old age, being content with learning them
only, and they spent so many years not so much in their study as in
their practise.

Now, tho one should despair of reaching to the height of perfection, a
groundless hope even in a person of genius, health, talent, and with
masters to assist him; yet it is noble, as Cicero says, to have a place
in the second, or third, rank. He who can not rival the glory of
Achilles in military exploits, shall not therefore have a mean opinion
of the praise due to Ajax, or Diomedes, and he who can not approach
Homer, need not despise the fame of Tyrteus. If men were to yield to the
thought of imagining none capable of exceeding such eminent persons as
went before them, then they even who are deemed excellent would not have
been so. Vergil would not have excelled Lucretius and Macer; nor Cicero,
Crassus and Hortensius; and no one for the future would pretend to any
advantage over his predecessor.

Tho the hope of surpassing these great men be but faint, yet it is an
honor to follow them. Have Pollio and Messala, who began to appear at
the bar when Cicero was already possest of the empire of eloquence,
acquired little dignity in their life-time, and left but a small degree
of glory for the remembrance of posterity? True it is that arts brought
to perfection would deserve very ill of human affairs if afterward they
could not at least be kept to the same standard.

THE REWARDS OF ELOQUENCE

Add to this that a moderate share of eloquence is attended with no small
advantage, and if measured by the fruits gathered from it, will almost
be on a par with that which is perfect. It would be no difficult matter
to show from many ancient or modern examples that no other profession
acquires for men, greater honors, wealth, friendship, present and future
glory, were it not degrading to the honor of letters to divert the mind
from the contemplation of the most noble object, the study and
possession of which is such a source of contentment, and fix it on the
less momentous rewards it may have, not unlike those who say they do not
so much seek virtue as the pleasure resulting from it.

Let us therefore with all the zealous impulses of our heart endeavor to
attain the very majesty of eloquence, than which the immortal gods have
not imparted anything better to mankind, and without which all would be
mute in nature, and destitute of the splendor of a perfect glory and
future remembrance. Let us likewise always make continued progress
toward perfection, and by so doing we shall either reach the height, or
at least shall see many beneath us.

This is all, as far as in me lies, I could contribute to the promoting
and perfecting of the art of eloquence; the knowledge of which, if it
does not prove of any great advantage to studious youth, will, at least,
what I more heartily wish for, give them a more ardent desire for doing
well.

ADVERTISEMENTS

How to Read and Declaim

A COURSE OF INSTRUCTION IN READING AND DECLAMATION HAVING AS ITS PRIME
OBJECT THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE AND REFINEMENT

By GRENVILLE KLEISER

_Formerly Instructor in Public Speaking at Yale Divinity School; Author
of "How to Speak in Public," etc._

This eminently practical book is divided into five parts:

PART ONE--Preparatory Course: Twenty Lessons on Naturalness,
Distinctness, Vivacity, Confidence, Simplicity, Deliberateness, and
kindred topics.

PART TWO--Advance Course: Twenty Lessons on Thought Values, Thought
Directions, Persuasion, Power, Climax, etc., etc.

PART THREE--Articulation and Pronunciation.

PART FOUR--Gesture and Facial Expression.

PART FIVE--The most up-to-date and popular prose and poetic selections
anywhere to be found.

It is a book to beget intelligent reading, so as to develop in the
student mental alertness, poise, and self-confidence.

_12mo, Cloth. $1.50, net; by mail, $1.65_

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers

NEW YORK and LONDON

Kleiser's Complete Guide to Public Speaking

_By GRENVILLE KLEISER_

Famous Author of many Practical Books and Courses

The only extensive, comprehensive, encyclopedic work of its kind ever
issued. How to speak, develop vocabulary, write, train memory, gesture,
etc. The best advice by the world's great authorities upon every phase
of Public Speaking.

     _Of Great Worth to the Public Speaker_

     "I consider it a compendium of particularly valuable information to
     all men who are called upon to address public
     audiences."--_Josephus Daniels_, Secretary of the Navy.

     "Full of the best sort of instruction."--_Evening Sun_, New York.

     _A Storehouse of Practical Information_

     "In that one volume is stored an amazing amount of practical
     information of success-winning sort."--_Hudson Maxim_.

_Royal 8vo, Cloth, over 700 Pages, $5.00 net. Full Flexible Leather,
$7.00 net; carriage 24 Cents Extra_

FUNK & WAGNALLS COMPANY, Publishers

NEW YORK and LONDON