Mark Twain tells how he went to church one hot night to hear a city mission worker describe his experiences among the poor people of the crowded districts who, though they needed help, were too modest or proud to ask for it. The speaker told of the suffering and bravery he found. Then he pointed out that the best gifts to charity are not the advertised bounties of the wealthy but the small donations of the less fortunate. His appeals worked Mark Twain up to great enthusiasm and generosity. He was ready to give all he had with him—four hundred dollars—and borrow more. The entire congregation wanted to offer all it had. But the missionary kept on talking. The audience began to notice the heat. It became hotter and hotter. They grew more and more uncomfortable. Mark's generosity began to shrink. It dwindled to less and less as the speech lengthened until when the plate did finally reach him, he stole ten cents from it. He adds that this simply proves how a little thing like a long-winded speech can induce crime.
Plan your speech so that it will be the proper length.
Discarding Material. This first consideration very likely indicates to you that you have much more material than you can use in the time allowed or assigned you. You must discard some. Strange as it may seem, this is one of the must difficult directions to carry out. It seems such a waste of time and material to select for actual presentation so small a part of all you have carefully gathered. There is always the temptation to "get it all in somehow." Yet the direction must remain inflexible. You can use only part of it. You must carefully select what will serve your purpose. What is the purpose of your speech? What is the character of your audience? These two things will determine to a large extent, what and how much you must relinquish. Your finished speech will be all the better for the weeding-out process. Better still, in all your preliminary steps for subsequent speeches you will become skilful in selecting while you are gathering the material itself. Finally you will become so practised that you will not burden yourself with waste, although you will always secure enough to supply you with a reserve supply for assurance and emergency.
Relation of Material to the Purpose of the Speech. A few examples will show the wide application of this principle. A boy who has explained to his father the scholarship rules of his school concerning athletes will discard a great deal of that material when he addresses a student gathering. A speaker on child labor in a state where women have voted for a long time will discard much of the material presented in a neighboring state where general franchise has just been granted. If in a series of remarks you want to emphasize the thrilling experience you have had with a large fish which jerked you out of a boat, you would not include such material as the trip on the train to the lake where you had your adventure. Why not?
These are humble instances, but the principle of selection is the same for all speeches.
A man who was asked to lecture on Mark Twain knew the contents of the thirty published volumes written by him, all the biographies, practically every article written about him; he had conversed with people who had known him; he had visited scenes of his life; yet when he planned to talk for an hour he had to reject everything except two striking periods of his life with their effects upon his writing.
Burke, in one great effort, declared he had no intention of dealing with the right of taxation; he confined himself merely to the expediency of Great Britain's revenue laws for America. Other great speakers have—in their finished speeches—just as clearly indicated the plans they have decided to follow. Such definite announcements determine the material of many introductions.
My task will be divided under three different heads: first, The Crime Against Kansas, in its origin and extent; secondly, The Apologies for the Crime; and, thirdly, The True Remedy.
Charles Sumner: The Crime against Kansas, 1856