Henry Ward Beecher, in speech at Liverpool, 1863
The beginning of one of Daniel Webster's famous speeches was a triumph of the deliverer's recognition of the mood of an audience. In the Senate in 1830 feeling had been running high over a resolution concerning public lands. Innocent enough in its appearance, this resolution really covered an attempt at the extension of the slavery territory. Both North and South watched the progress of the debate upon this topic with almost held breath. Hayne of South Carolina had spoken upon it during two days when Webster rose to reply to him. The Senate galleries were packed, the members themselves were stirred up to the highest pitch of keen intensity. Nearly the entire effect of Webster's statement and argument for the North depended upon the effect he could make upon the Senators at the very opening of his speech.
Webster began in a low voice, with a calm manner, to speak very slowly. In a second he had soothed the emotional tension, set all the hearers quite at ease, and by the time the Secretary had read the resolution asked by Webster, he had them in complete control. His task was to make them attentive, but more especially, ready to be instructed.
Mr. President: When the mariner has been tossed for many days in thick weather and on an unknown sea, he naturally avails himself of the first pause in the storm, the earliest glance of the sun, to take his latitude and ascertain how far the elements have driven him from his true course. Let us imitate this prudence; and, before we float farther on the waves of this debate, refer to the point from which we departed, that we may, at least, be able to conjecture where we now are. I ask for the reading of the resolution before the Senate.
Daniel Webster: Reply to Hayne, 1830
Linking the Introduction to Preceding Speeches. So many speeches are replies to preceding addresses that many introductions adapt themselves to their audiences by touching upon such utterances. In debates, in pleas in court, in deliberative assemblies, this is more usually the circumstance than not. The following illustrates how courteously this may be done, even when it serves merely to make all the clearer the present speaker's position. In moments of tensest feeling great speakers skilfully move from any one position or attitude to another as Patrick Henry did. While you are regarding these paragraphs as an example of introduction do not overlook their vocabulary and sentences.
Mr. President: No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the house. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely, and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the house is one of awful moment to the country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery. And in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly things.
Mr. President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that Siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who having eyes see not, and having ears hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth; to know the worst and to provide for it.
Patrick Henry in the Virginia Convention, 1775