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According to this definition, where there is no emotion there can be no eloquence; for evidently that can not be expressed which has no existence. It likewise follows that, whatever other qualifications a speaker may possess, as long as he is deficient in emotion he must be deficient in eloquence. He may be philosophic, instructive, and even attractive, but not an eloquent speaker. But if, like James Otis, the orator of New England in the days of colonial dependence, he has a "soul of fire,” he may be expected to kindle a flame in the breasts of others.

CONTINUED EMOTION.

§ 554. Moreover, for the highest eloquence there must be continued emotion. There may, indeed, on some occasion, be a sudden burst of overmastering feeling, as when one rises in debate to repel a personal attack, which may express itself in the most eloquent language; but for a sustained, effective, and persuasive eloquence, there must be a sustained feeling during both the meditation and delivery. An emotion thus continued for a length of time will, by the law of association, collect all those thoughts, reasonings, images, and illustrations which are related to the emotion, the subject, and the occasion; will render them vivid in the mind of the speaker, and help him to express them in vivid language. What was it but a permanent strong emotion that enabled Demosthenes to sustain his eloquence for years against Philip? What but a permanent emotion could have sustained the eloquence of Cicero during the delivery of his orations against Catiline? What but long-continued emotion, through years of opposition, could have sustained the eloquence of Wilberforce, until it persuaded the British nation to put an end to the slave trade? The light of truth, unlike the light of the sun, moves slowly. The ardor of conviction is often but slowly transfused from the soul of the speaker into the souls of others to make them burn with a kindred glow. A community is often but a refractory substance to deal with. There are so many combinations of error, prejudice, and passion in the public mind, that it is not easily reduced to a oneness of thought and feeling with that of the orator. The heart of the public is so mineralized (to borrow an allusion from metallic ores), that nothing but the continued as well as intense ignition

of his heart, brought closely into contact with it, can melt it from its various affinities into a flow of one common emotion.

THE SOURCE OF EMOTION.

§ 555. It should be added, that emotion in the soul of the orator must spring from the subject itself, and not from any thing extraneous and accidental. A man may rise in a public assembly under the influence of some strong emotion, as of bashfulness, of despair, or of love of praise, and find that an emotion of this kind, arising from something extraneous to the subject, only disqualifies him for speaking, by withdrawing his attention from the subject, and fixing it upon that which is extraneous. But when, like Patrick Henry, his whole soul is so absorbed in the subject at issue that it "haunts him like a passion,” in solitude as well as in the assembly; when, in his deep devotion to a cause like his, he can say, "Give me liberty or give me death!" like him he will be eloquent. Like him he will find that the common heart of his audience will respond in strong throbbings to his own.

EMOTION REGULATED BY JUDGMENT.

§ 556. And, further, the emotion in the soul of the speaker, springing from a view of the subject, should be regulated by a sound judgment. It should be so strong as to invigorate the other faculties of the mind, but not so overwhelming as to disturb them in their movements. There is a degree of excitement bordering on derangement, under which the orator may sometimes speak with great effect, like MacBriar in Old Mortality. In this state of mind, he is possessed by his subject rather than possesses it. And though he may, within certain limits, carry his audience along with him on the "seraph wings of ecstasy," there is danger that, taking leave of his reason and his audience, he may run into the extravagance of mere rant and impotent passion. Emotion must string his nerves and "imp his eagle wings," but judgment must direct his flight.

EMOTION

UNITED WITH THE LOVE OF TRUTH.

§ 557. In looking at eloquence in its origin in the soul of the orator, we find that it is closely related to the love of truth.

Truth is
He who

Truth is the grand instrument for making others feel as he feels. A love of truth must animate the orator in all his investigations, as well as in the delivery of his opinions, or he will not tax his mind to the full and successful exertions of his powers. A mind that has a strong affinity for truth can first discover and then unfold it to others, when another mind, influenced only by the love of gain, or of reputation, or of office, would fail. the natural invigorator and nourisher of the mind. loves truth is the better qualified to present it to others in such a way that they too will feel its influence. Moreover, when an orator evinces to an audience that he has a strong love of truth in his soul, he has a deeper hold of that audience, because he has their confidence, than he can have, who, by falsehood, is skilled to "make the worse appear the better reason." What was it but the love of truth that gave the Apostle Paul power over his audience? With what candor and gentleness does he treat the arguments and the prejudices of his hearers, that by all means he should win some to the knowledge of the truth! It was the love of truth, and not the desire of victory, that formed the living principle of his argumentation, as it was the ruling principle of his life. As his Master came to bear witness to the truth, so Paul felt, in his fervent love of the truth, that he was set for the defense of the Gospel, the sum and substance of the truth.

ΕΜΟΤΙΟΝ UNITED WITH STRONG SENSE OF RIGHT.

§ 558. Moreover, there must be in the soul of the orator a strong sense of right, to qualify him to enforce what is right upon others. There are men whose want of moral sensibility is such, that they can look with indifference upon some atrocious crime, as they can likewise upon some glorious act of virtue. Their pulse neither quickens with the flush of anger in the one case, nor with the generous glow of admiration in the other. Such men can not be eloquent in those cases in which there must be strong appeals to the sense of right and wrong, that deep principle in the common heart of man, which no orator can safely neglect.

What was it that fired the eloquence of Burke, when, on a certain occasion, it shook the walls that confined it with anath

emas almost superhuman? Was it not the deep sense of violated right, the strong abhorrence of that "geographical morality" which characterized the Governor of India and his minions? How could he have described the tortures inflicted by his orders, the flagrant injustice committed by his authority; how could he have painted " agonizing nature vibrating in horrid suspense between life and destruction," and, in the climax of the crimes, "death introduced into the very sources of life," in such a way that a "convulsive sensation of horror, and affright, and smothered execration pervaded all the male part of the hearers, and audible sobbings and screams, with tears and fainting, the female," unless his own moral sensibilities had been deeply excited? Without his strong hatred of vice, which is no other than a passionate love of virtue, how could he have made the accused party bear testimony the strongest ever borne to the powers of any orator in any country? "For half an hour," said Mr. Hastings, "I looked up at the orator in a reverie of wonder, and during that space I actually felt myself the most culpable man on earth;" adding, however, "but I recurred to my own bosom, and there found a consciousness that consoled me under all I heard and all I suffered." It is an ancient opinion that none but a good man can be an eminent orator. The opinion is a sound one, for this reason, if for no other, that none but a good man can have that hatred of vice and wrong which are no other than a passionate love of right and virtue. Lacking goodness, he lacks the highest inspiration and the most powerful instrumentality.

THE END AIMED AT.

§ 559. But, in order to speak with effect, it is necessary that the orator should have distinctly in his mind the end for which he speaks. This end must stand forth in the field of his vision distinct and prominent, as the one thing to be thought of during the meditation and delivery of his discourse; as the one thing to be held up before his hearers. What he says, he is to regard as valuable only as it is a means adapted to promote that end. Whatever he regards as foreign to this instrumentality, he rejects, however beautiful in thought or expression it may be. To accomplish this end, to conduct his hearers to the point

to which he wishes to lead them, he endeavors to fill their minds with the same thoughts and feelings which fill his mind; to link in his ideas on the subject in hand with their habitual ideas concerning duty, moral excellence, the public weal, and personal happiness. Whether in the cause of justice at the bar, or in the cause of the public weal in the deliberative assembly, or in the cause of religion in the pulpit, he must have a distinct end in his mind, and distinct ideas related to this end, and a distinct mode by which he endeavors to connect his ideas with their ideas, and thus to bring them to act with him. This was what distinguished the younger Pitt. He always had a distinct end in speaking related to distinct ideas or principles thought out in his mind, which, in their application, became what was called The Pitt System.

GOOD SENSE.

§ 560. Another requisite is, that the orator should have good sense in adapting the means which he employs to the end. He must not only have in his mind truths that have a bearing upon the subject in hand, but those truths which have a bearing upon the minds of his hearers. He must, therefore, fully understand the state of their feelings, the degree of their knowledge, the strength of their prejudices and predilections; otherwise he will fail of accomplishing his end, from not applying the appropriate means. All eloquence is relative. It must be related to the audience, to the time, to the place, to the occasion. The speaker must not mistake his office, which is to apply truth, for that of the philosopher, which is to discover truth. He must have that ready perception of the proprieties of the occasion, that tact in seizing hold of any relationship between him and his audience, which Paul manifested when he made the declaration, "I am a Pharisee." Burke, as a philosophic statesman, in addressing the House of Commons, sometimes "thought of convincing while they thought of dining;" while Charles Townsend, a practical man, could always, in the language of the former, "hit the House between wind and water." The former, indeed, receives the applause of posterity; but the latter was successful in carrying his measures through Parliament.

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