It is not necessary that the orator’s thoughts should be exceedingly profound; the most vital truths lie near the surface, within reach of all. But most men do not dwell long enough upon one subject to master its obvious features, and when some one does fully gather up and fairly present what belongs to a worthy theme it is like a new revelation. A good illustration of this is found in the sublimity Dean Stanley imparts to the story of the Exodus of Israel. Few new facts are presented, but these are so arranged and vivified by a thoughtful mind that the subject glows into new meaning. The extemporaneous speaker may have abundant time for such study of every topic within his range of addresses, and if he uses it aright, he can soon wield a charm far beyond any jingling combination of words.
When an orator stands before an audience, shall he expect to overwhelm them by his eloquence? Such a result is possible but not probable; and it can never be safely calculated upon. If persons attempt to be greatly eloquent on all occasions, they are apt to end by becoming ridiculous. Good sense and solid usefulness are better objects of endeavor.
Any man who studies a subject until he knows more about it than his neighbors can interest them in a fireside explanation, if they care for the subject at all: he tells his facts in a plain style and is understood. Many persons will listen delighted to a man’s conversation until midnight, but will fall asleep in ten minutes if he tries to make a speech to them. In the first case he talks, and is simple and unaffected; in the other he speaks and feels that he must use a style stiffened up for the occasion.
When Henry Clay was asked how he became so eloquent, he said that he could tell nothing about it; all he knew was that when he commenced an address he had only the desire to speak what he had prepared (not memorized), and adhered to this line of preparation until he was enwrapped in the subject, and carried away, he knew not how. This was a good course, for if the extraordinary inspiration did not come, a good and sensible speech was secured at any rate.
Some of these considerations may be of service if weighed in advance, but when the speaker once ascends the platform he must rely on his own tact for the management of all details. Closely observing the condition of the audience, and taking advantage of every favoring element, he moves steadily toward his object. With an unobstructed road before him, which he has traveled in thought until it is familiar, he will advance with ease and certainty. As he looks upon interested faces, new ideas arise, and if fitting, are woven into harmony with previous preparations, often with thrilling effect. Each emotion enkindled by sympathy embodies itself in words that move the heart as prepared language could not do, and each moment his own conviction sinks deeper into the hearts of his hearers.
There are three principal ways of concluding a speech. One of the most graceful is to condense a clear view of the whole argument and tendency of the address into a few words, and leave the summing up thus made to produce its own effect. Discourses aiming principally to produce conviction may very well be concluded in this manner. To throw the whole sweep of an argument, every point of which has been previously elaborated, into a few telling sentences will contribute powerfully to make the impression permanent.
Another and very common mode is to close with an application or with practical remarks. When the address is a sermon, this form of closing is frequently termed an exhortation, and the whole speech is made to bear upon the duty of the moment. The conclusion should be closely connected with the remainder of the address: if it be so general in character as to fit any speech it will be of little service to any.
A conclusion should always be short and contain no new matter. Few things are more disastrous than the practice of drawing toward an end and then launching out into a new discussion. All good things that have been said, all previous favorable impressions, are obliterated by this capital fault. We should be careful to finish the discussion of our theme before we indicate that the conclusion has been reached. And if, at the moment of finishing, we happen to think of anything, however vital, which has been omitted, it had better be left to another time and place altogether.
A third method of closing is to simply break off when the last item is finished. The full development of the discourse is thus made its ending, care being taken that the last item discussed shall be of weight and dignity. This is by no means the easiest form of conclusion, but rightly managed it is one of the most effective.