mentary to Daniel Webster, in whose honor the dinner was given :

GENTLEMEN : I rise to propose a toast, expressive of the great esteem and honor in which we hold the illustrious guest whom we are assembled to welcome. It is cause for felicitation to have this opportunity to receive him, and to meet him at our festive board.

In Philadelphia we have long been accustomed to follow him, with earnest attention, in his high vocations in the legislative hall and in the Cabinet; and have always seen him there exercising his great talents for the true interests of our wide-spread Republic. And we, in common with the American people, have felt the influence of his wisdom and patriotism. In seasons of danger, he has been to us a living comforter; and more than once has restored this nation to serenity, security, and prosperity.

In a career of more than thirty years of political agitation, he, with courageous constancy, unwavering integrity, and eminent ability, has carried out, as far as his agency could prevail, the true principles of the American system of government.

For his numerous public services we owe him much, and we open our grateful hearts to him in thanks; we say to him, with feelings of profound respect and warm affection, that we are rejoiced at his presence here, amid his Philadelphia friends. his faithful Philadelphia friends and admirers.

Thirteen years later, and seven years after the death of Daniel Webster, the seventy-seventh anniversary of the great statesman's birthday was commemorated by a banquet at which the orator, Rufus Choate, made an address. The opening words of that address were as follow:

I would not have it supposed for a moment that I design to make any eulogy, or any speech, concerning the great man whose birthday we have met to observe. I hasten to assure you that I shall attempt to do no such thing. or fitness for it, for any purpose.

There is no longer need of it, Times have been when such a

thing might have been done with propriety. While he was yet

personally among us, while he was yet walking in his strength in the paths or ascending the heights of active public life, or standing upon them, - and so many of the good and wise, so many of the wisest and best of our country, from all parts of it, thought he had title to the great office of our system, and would have had him formally presented for it, it was fit that those who loved and honored him should publicly — with effort, with passion, with argument, with contention — recall the series of his services, his life of elevated labors, finished and unfinished, display his large qualities of character and mind, and compare him, somewhat, in all these things, with the great men, his competitors for the great prize. Then was there a battle to be fought, and it was needful to fight it.

And so, again, in a later day, while our hearts were yet bleeding with the sense of recent loss, and he lay newly dead in his chamber, and the bells were tolling, and his grave was open, and the sunlight of an autumn day was falling on that long funeral train, I do not say it was fit only, it was unavoidable, that we all, in some choked utterance and some imperfect, sincere expression, should, if we could not praise the patriot, lament the man.

But these times have gone by. The race of honor and duty is for him all run. The high endeavor is made, and it is finished. The monument is builded. He is entered into his glory. The day of hope, of pride, of grief, has been followed by the long rest; and the sentiments of grief, pride, and hope, are all merged in the sentiment of calm and implicit veneration. We have buried him in our hearts. That is enough to say. Our estimation of him is part of our creed. We have no argument to make or hear upon it. We enter into no dispute about him. We permit no longer any man to question us as to what he was, what he had done, how much we loved him, how much the country loved him, and how well he deserved it. We admire, we love, and we are still. Be this enough for us to say.

Is it not enough that we just stand silent on the deck of the bark fast flying from the shore, and turn and see, as the line of coast disappears, and the headlands and hills and all the land go down, and the islands are swallowed up, the great mountain standing there in its strength and majesty, supreme and still to

see how it swells away up from the subject and fading vale? to see that, though clouds and tempests, and the noise of waves, and the yelping of curs, may be at its feet, eternal sunshine has settled upon its head?

In this country every Presidential campaign and indeed every local election involving important issues gives occasion to the politician to endeavor by public speeches to influence votes and increase his constituency or that of his favorite candidate. Owing to an earlyday frontier practice of speaking from the stumps of trees, such speakers are still commonly said to "take the stump." In England and Ireland they "mount the hustings."

Doubtless this method of electioneering is much abused; but we may not decry it on that account. The addresses are made directly to the voters and often to a class of voters who do not read much and who need enlightenment on the issues of the day. The difficulty lies in the fact that nearly all of these great questions have two sides, each with its sincere advocates,

and a speaker is apt to be misled by his enthusiasm to make out a good case and unduly influence votes by representing his side in a too favorable light. But nevertheless we indulge such championship even to the extent of partisanship, feeling that full discussion is better than none at all and trusting that in the long run “ever the right comes uppermost, and ever is justice done."

With purely extemporaneous speaking we have nothing to do except in so far as the practice of writing speeches may assist in the development of an oratorical style. For speeches —even after-dinner speeches, even stump speeches are written or prepared beforehand, the great majority of them. A really good extemporaneous speech is rare, for it requires the happy combination of a rare man and a rare occasion. Given this combination, you have an ideal address.

Right here we get a clew to the secret of writing a successful oration we must make it conform as nearly as possible to our ideal of an extemporaneous one. That there should be certain differences between written discourse and spoken discourse, that is, between that which is intended to be read and that which is intended to be heard, few will deny. In delivering an address you will have to face an audience, look people in the eye, hold their attention, play on their feelings, endure their displeasure or receive their applause. In preparing the address beforehand all this should be borne in mind. Imagine as vividly as you can that you have your audience before you; do not lose sight of it for a moment; write to it as you will have to talk to it; use terms of direct address - gentlemen, friends, fellowcitizens wherever they seem natural and not over

formal; be genial, frank, gracious yet earnest, familiar yet dignified. The advantages of personal directness. of address, of getting so close to your audience that they will almost feel as if you held them by the hand, cannot be over-estimated. One of the most telling stump-speeches the present writer ever heard was addressed almost throughout to a particular person in the audience who was a good type of the class whom the speaker wished to reach. He proceeded in about this style:

You know how it is, sir. you, sir, sitting there in the fourth row of seats on the right of the aisle. You will remember that just four years ago this fall I was driving through the country here and staid over night with you. You remember how you were disposed to complain then because you had not realized enough on your abundant wheat harvest to pay for the machinery you had bought that year and because you couldn't see how the corn-crop was going to clothe your family through the winter. I asked you how you were voting and you said that had nothing to do with the matter. And then I said that if you thought that had nothing to do with the matter you surely could not see any harm in making the experiment of voting the other way and of getting a hundred other farmers to make the experiment with you. Did you make the experiment? I am afraid not. Certain it is that the hundred others did not, for when returns from the district came in you had rolled up the same old majority. And what is the result? Your receipts are just as far from covering your expenditures to-day as they were four years ago to-day. Deny it if you can.

EXERCISE LXII.

ORATORY. THE BAR.

Eloquence is oratory at its best; define it more accurately than that.