DELIGHT and POWER
IN SPEECH

A UNIVERSAL DRAMATIC READER

BY

LEONARD G. NATTKEMPER
Polytechnic High School, Long Beach, Cal.
Formerly Professor of Public Speaking,
University of Southern California

AND

GEORGE WHARTON JAMES, Litt. D.
Author of “California, Romantic and Beautiful,”
“Arizona, the Wonderland,” “In and Out
of the Old Missions of California,”
“Reclaiming the Arid West,”
Etc., Etc.

A New, Complete and Practical Method of
Securing Delight and Efficiency in
Silent and Oral Reading and
Private and Public Speech

TOGETHER WITH A LARGE AND VARIED COLLECTION
OF CAREFULLY CHOSEN
SELECTIONS IN PROSE AND POETRY,
WITH CHAPTERS ON “THE CULTIVATION OF THE
MEMORY” AND “AFTER DINNER SPEAKING”

THE RADIANT LIFE PRESS
Pasadena, California
1919

Copyright, 1919,
By The Radiant Life Press

J. F. TAPLEY CO.
NEW YORK

INTRODUCTION

Speech is one of God’s greatest gifts to man, yet, comparatively speaking, how few there are whose speech is pleasing to hear, clear and understandable, impressive and stimulative to action.

From the cradle to the grave every person, perforce, uses speech, just as he eats, breathes, drinks, sleeps. It is one of the important, ever exercised functions of life. Upon it all our social, business and professional intercourse is based. Without it, life as we know it, would be impossible. With it, developed to its natural, normal, proper, and readily attainable efficiency, there are few limits to what man may aspire to attain.

Recognizing to the full the truth of the aphorism that “the things we enjoy doing are the things we do best,” it is the purpose of this book so to present its subject as to create in its readers a firm resolve to so thoroughly enjoy good reading that they will do it well.

The aim is twofold: first, to stimulate a natural desire on the part of the student for the proper use of voice and body in the oral interpretation of literature; and second, to present a natural and practical scheme for the attainment of this end.

After a number of years of experience and observation the authors have come to believe that when even the most diffident pupil has once had aroused in him a real enjoyment in the acts of speaking and reading aloud, he is destined to become not only an intelligent, but an intelligible reader.

It is no longer necessary to argue for the recognition of vocal expression as a worthy and definite part of the curriculum of High School and College. Training in the spoken word is to-day, as never before, looked upon as a prerequisite to professional and business success. Henry Ward Beecher, speaking of the rightful place of speech culture, says:

A living force that brings to itself all the resources of the imagination, all the inspirations of feeling, all that is influential in body, in voice, in eye, in gesture, in posture, in the whole animated man, is in strict analogy with the divine thought and the divine arrangement ... and so regarded, it should take its place among the highest departments of education.

The majority of mankind, however, seems to feel that beautiful, powerful, and effective speech or the ability to read well and acceptably is the gift or attainment of the chosen few. Nothing can be further from the fact. Beauty is the normal condition in the universe in every realm of nature, and is attained by the simple effort of each thing to express itself in natural and spontaneous fashion. Likewise, clear, impressive, delight-giving, thought-provoking speech, and the power to read well are as easy to attain, and may be obtained in the same natural, spontaneous, unaffected manner.

Unfortunately in the past the teachers of these simple and natural arts befogged the whole subject by their artificialities, formalities, conventionalities and pretenses. Their text-books were filled with unnecessary and injurious rules, mandates, and requirements. And thus the pseudo-science of “Elocution,” with its stilted expressions, its fixed gestures, its artificial inflections, came into being. And the students who were eager to acquire the mastery of effective speech,—than which there is no greater accomplishment,—were intimidated, frightened away by the multiplicity of rules and theories.

Let us be thankful that the day is dawning when instruction in correct spoken language comes through the easy avenues of naturalness, spontaneity, simplicity and normal enthusiasm. Too long have we been discouraged by the glib aphorism that there is no easy road to learning. It is not true, if by learning we mean the attainment of the real intellectual things, instead of the sham, pretentious things that men in the past too often have called learning.

The authors of this book venture the affirmation that hardly one of the great readers, public speakers of power, or orators of influence have ever taken a lesson in the so-called art of “elocution” or heeded any of its straight-jacket rules. Daniel Webster has well expressed the difference between the man with a heart full of burning thoughts demanding utterance, and the one with a mouth full of carefully chosen words, and exquisitely modulated phrases, meaning little or nothing to the soul of him:

True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from afar. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they cannot compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it,—they cannot reach it. It comes, if it comes at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country hang on the decision of the hour. Then words have lost their power, rhetoric is in vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then patriotism is eloquent; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, out-running the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object,—this, this is eloquence; or, rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence: it is action,—noble, sublime, God-like action.

The natively-eloquent learned to speak with power because they had a message, because they felt, were deeply moved, saw a vision, experienced a deep emotion, had a thought they strongly desired to communicate to others, and with a few fundamental, simple, readily-grasped principles before them, generally unconsciously exercised, they said their say, and convinced the world.

To state these basic principles with the simplicity and naturalness they call for, and to show the pleasure and power that come from their development is the purpose of the authors of this book.

By following these self-evident steps one who has something worth saying, whose heart is deeply stirred, will become a good reader, a fluent, convincing public speaker with little or no conscious effort. Just as a few simple exercises, regularly persisted in, produce glowing, radiant health and physical strength, so will these simple, enjoyable exercises, kept ever in mind and daily used, bring to one the glowing delight of reading to oneself with appreciation and intelligence, reading publicly with intelligibility and effectiveness, and speaking to a large or small audience with convincing power.

The Selections of the Book

While there are many and varied text-books that deal with this important subject in a more or less modern fashion, they all use, to a greater or lesser extent, the same old selections from well-known authors and orators, which, unfortunately, were used by the teachers of the stilted, artificial, sophomoric and altogether discredited “elocution.” Hence, the authors and editors of this volume have made an almost entirely new choice of Selections for illustrative purposes and for public reading. But few will be found that have been used elsewhere. References are made to the writings of standard authors which may be obtained in any ordinary library, but a large percentage of the prose and poetry of this collection is taken from the more modern and popular American writers.

It is neither the intent nor the desire of the editors to limit the field of thought of their readers or students to any one field of English literature. Our aim is quite the contrary. We would so emphasize the worth of the literature of the West, however, that those who have hitherto deemed that “no good can come out of Nazareth,” may be led to search for literary good in other Nazareths.

Literature is as wide as civilized human life, and according to the intensity with which life is lived, and the desire of those who live to express that intensity, will literature of strength and power be produced. The West lives intensely, rapidly, urgently, individually, hence its literature is intense, strong and powerful.

Just as sure as history records the existence of an early West—a West where the gun and knife settled men’s heated controversies, a West where, for many years, there was a dearth of woman’s soft voice and tender smile—just so sure are the writings of the Western poets, philosophers and storytellers of this period a vital part of our early American literature. The literature of the West, as with the literature of any country, needs only be a true, sincere, worthy expression of the life it professes to portray.

The greater one’s knowledge of the literatures of the various peoples of the world, the deeper one’s sympathies become, and the easier it is to grasp the divine principles of human brotherhood.

The authors also wish to call attention to what they deem another important feature of their work. It will be seen from the outline plan of the book that it is divided into four parts, viz.: Intelligible Reading, Sympathetic Reading, Melodious Reading, Oratorical Reading.

The selections have been arranged, in the main, under these respective headings, that they may accompany the explanations, serve to elucidate the principles laid down, and afford copious examples for their practice.

There is also an important and practical chapter on the Development and Use of the Memory.

That this book will fill a long felt and continuously expressed want on the part of teachers of Oral Reading is the confident assurance of the editors.

In the preparation of the technical part of the book the authors have been immeasurably aided by their large and personal knowledge of, and acquaintance or friendship with, leading orators in politics, the law, the church, on the lecture platform, and at public dinners and other functions. They have also availed themselves of the same knowledge of the great interpreters in the theater. A long, intimate study of the essential characteristics which made for the success of many masters in the art of using the spoken word has been made. Thus the authors are assured that no factor that leads towards, and assures, success in dramatic or private reading or speaking has been ignored. All academic and purely theoretical matter has been rigorously excluded.

The old methods of sophomoric oratory are gone, never to return. Men and women of purpose have learned that simplicity, directness, naturalness, are the most potent factors in conveying their ideas to others. It is gratifying to know that modern methods of teaching Oral Reading and Private and Public Speaking seek to emphasize these fundamental principles and reduce to the lowest possible minimum all introductions of the artificial.

Leonard G. Nattkemper,
George Wharton James.

PART ONE
Intelligent and Intelligible Reading

FIRST STEP. Getting the author’s thought. Discussing INTELLIGENT reading. Giving material for training the pupil in getting the thought from the printed page. Reading at sight and reproducing in his own words. Making outlines of simple selections, principally prose selections.

SECOND STEP. Discussion of INTELLIGIBLE reading. Two-fold purpose: Thought-getting and thought-giving in the author’s words. General and Special preparation. Exercises in Enunciation, Pronunciation, Articulation, Vocabulary.

CHAPTER I
READING AND PUBLIC SPEECH

It is the first and last object of education “to teach people how to think.” When we consider the vast wealth of great thoughts felt and expressed by great men of all times and recorded for us in books, should we not give serious reflection upon what we read and how we read?

This book has to do primarily with how rightly to speak thoughts and feelings hidden in great literature—yet it is strictly in keeping with this purpose to give some attention to silent reading as distinguished from oral reading. For how can one hope to become an intelligible reader who is not first an intelligent one? This does not argue that an intelligent reader is likewise intelligible, for the mere comprehension of the author’s thought and mood does not in itself insure a proper or adequate oral rendition of the same. In this sense we think of the former act as a necessity, and of the latter as an accomplishment.

Yet in this twentieth century we can hardly make the above limitations, for he who is to become most useful to himself and to others, must not only be able to understand what he reads, but must, at the same time, be able effectively to communicate it to others. The latter accomplishment, of course, necessitates systematic drill and practice, and the greater portion of this book is devoted to a series of lessons for carrying on such a course of instruction. In this immediate chapter, however, we are concerned more particularly with reading in general.

One of the first steps toward fitting oneself to become an impressive reader and speaker is to acquire a real love for the best literature. The only way to do this is by making the acquaintance of great authors, and the best way to come into companionship with noble writers is conscientiously to study their works. Because, at first glance, an author may seem obscure, too many are fain to put the book aside, or substitute for it one that does not require any effort to enjoy. But, after all, is it not the books over which we struggle most that yield us the most joy and the most good? When once we form the friendship of great books and catch their vision, we cannot help but pattern our lives, in a very large measure, in accordance with those fundamental and lasting principles of right living and right thinking which characterize the writings of all great men and women. Their ideals become our ideals.

It seems, therefore, that if we hope to become agreeable speakers or conversationalists we must, at the outset, realize it as imperative that we, make ourselves familiar with the writings, in verse and prose, of noble minds. It is by this close association with great people, who have not only understood and felt the deeper meanings of life, but who have put their experiences and knowledge into permanent literature, that we may have our smaller souls kindled to glow brighter and longer. It is by giving an attentive ear to the voices that call to us from our bookshelves that our finer sensibilities are quickened to fuller appreciation of nature, of art, and of the joy of living.

We must realize that training in the development of oral expression is primarily a cultural course, but, at the same time, a practical one. Many people would invert the order of this statement, but all are agreed that correct vocal expression aids immeasurably in the development of taste and refinement, and, at the same time, affords, in many ways, practical assistance in daily living.

Pure water is more likely to be drawn from a deep well than from a shallow pool. So, also, he who possesses depth of feeling and appreciation of noble thoughts and pure emotions is more likely to give adequate and satisfactory oral expression to them than he whose feeling is shallow and indifferent. Experience teaches that nothing gives greater aid to a spontaneous, irresistible flow of thought, revealing, through voice and body, the finer conceptions of the human soul, than a constant familiarity with the deep wells of the best literature.

By listening eagerly to the best words great men of all times have said to the world, we make our own natures responsive. Then, in greater or lesser measure, as readers or speakers, we translate or interpret these words for the enjoyment or uplift of others.

How can the man, the woman, of limited time and means, proceed so as to find these treasures of literature?

Let us here set down, briefly and clearly, what seems to us the most enjoyable and natural method to use. In the first place, ask yourself if you are willing to be a hard worker, self-sacrificing and humble. Unless you are, you will find that great spirits are slow to share with you their richest treasures. You must first make yourself worthy before you can expect to enter into their sanctum. In the words of Ruskin:

You must be willing to work hard to find the hidden meaning of the author. Ask yourself, “Am I inclined to work as an Australian miner would? Are my pick-axes and shovels in good order, and am I in good trim myself, my sleeves well up to my elbows, and my breath good, and my temper?” ... The metal you are in search of being the author’s mind or meaning, his words are as the rock which you have to crush and smelt in order to get at it. And your pick-axes are your own care, wit, and learning; your smelting furnace is your own thoughtful soul. Do not hope to get at any good author’s meaning without those tools and that fire; often you will need sharpest, finest chiseling, and patientest fusing, before you can gather one grain of the metal.

Then, too, you must be patient. An untrained reader is, as it were, wandering in a great forest where he sees many paths, but he knows not which to take. If he pursue a wrong path the first, second or the third time, he should not lose hope, but seek again and again. By such experiences he is sharpening his faculty of discrimination, and erelong can, in a brief space, detect which paths he should follow. No one but yourself can prescribe rightly a course of reading best suited to your particular needs. It must be a voluntary search on your own part, and an enjoyable one, if you are to get the most from it.

But here enters a serious consideration: Is what I enjoy most the best for me? The answer is Yes and No! Yes, if you enjoy most what appeals to the best in you; no, if you enjoy most what in your heart you know appeals to what is the worst in you. Therefore, the important question for you to answer is—does this book, article, essay or poem merely interest me, or does it appeal to the best in me?

Henry Van Dyke expresses the matter perfectly:

The person who wants to grow, turns to books as a means of purifying his tastes, deepening his feelings, broadening his sympathies, and enhancing his joy of life. Literature he loves because it is the most humane of the arts. Its forms and processes interest him as expressions of the human striving towards clearness of thought, purity of emotion, and harmony of action with the ideal. The culture of a finer, fuller manhood is what this reader seeks. He is looking for the books in which the inner meanings of nature and life are translated into language of distinction and charm, touched with the human personality of the author, and embodied in forms of permanent interest and power. This is literature. And the reader who sets his affections on these things enters the world of books as one made free of a city of wonders, a garden of fair delights. He reads not from a sense of duty, not from a constraint of fashion, not from an ambition of learning, but from a thirst of pleasure; because he feels that pleasure of the highest kind,—a real joy in the perception of things lucid, luminous, symmetrical, musical, sincere, passionate, and profound,—such pleasure restores the heart and quickens it, makes it stronger to endure the ills of life and more fertile in all good fruits of cheerfulness, courage and love. This reader for vital pleasure has less need of maps and directories, rules and instructions, than of companionship. A criticism that will go with him in his reading, and open up new meaning in familiar things, and touch the secrets of beauty and power, and reveal the hidden relations of literature to life, and help him to see the reasonableness of every true grace of style, the sincerity of every real force of passion,—a criticism that penetrates, illuminates, and appreciates, making the eyes clearer and the heart more sensitive to perceive the living spirit in good books,—that is the companionship which will be most helpful, and most grateful to the gentle reader.

CHAPTER II
EFFECTIVE SPEECH

There are four definite steps in the mastery of effective speech:

• It must be Intelligible
• It must be Sympathetic
• It must be Melodious
• It must be Forceful

In seeking to accomplish these four aims, the pupil will not only increase his culture but his practical mental power as well.

The first step has to do with whatever makes understandable what he has to say. But before he can be intelligible in address, he must be an intelligent reader. He must train himself to master the real meaning of words. This means taking in—comprehending—and translating the thought of others. This is an important part in accomplishing the first step. The mind must be trained quickly and accurately to comprehend the printed page.

The Basis for Good Oral Reading

Grasp this idea firmly: Before one may hope to read intelligibly, he must first be an intelligent reader. You cannot express outwardly what you have not received and do not feel inwardly. Therefore the basis of good oral reading is understanding—intelligent silent reading. Some one has well said, “Unless a child can read, he cannot be educated.” How few can read at sight a short passage and then close the book and relate its context. Why is this the case? Because the pupil has not been properly trained to read.

The Basis for Good Silent Reading

In the study of the printed word we must remember that its real meaning depends altogether upon its relation to other words in the same group. For instance, the word “fire” does not mean the same thing at all times. The real meaning of this word depends upon its kinship with other members of the same group. When we say, “The house is on fire,” the word “fire” means an altogether different thing from what it means when we say, “There is need of a fire in the stove this morning.” We must continually take care that we do not isolate words, but that we get their associated meaning. For too long a time in our public schools the pupils have been taught to read words and not ideas or thoughts. They have been taught to read word by word and not group by group. For instance, the most elementary pupils will read as follows: “The—cat—can—run—and—play—with—the—ball.” The grouping is altogether overlooked. The children are concentrating their attention upon single or isolated words instead of upon thought groups made up of several words as follows: “The cat can run—and play with the ball.”

Get the Author’s Thought

Whatever one reads, he must first determine for what purpose he is reading. A definite aim or end in view must be had to serve as a motive power. The pupil who can relate the successive events in a narrative after having read it carefully, has trained his memory. But memory training is not the highest aim or end. The thing of paramount importance is: What is the application of the author’s meaning? The value lies in what use the student can make of the knowledge. This act of getting the author’s thought draws upon the student’s stock of experience. All new matter comes to the pupil in terms of his past experiences. The task of the teacher is to aid him in identifying himself with the lesson taught by the author, so that he can make practical use of it.

We Are Not Studying Style

In this present step in the development of the student in effective speech the style of an author is nothing more than a means to an end and not the end itself. The test for the pupil is to see if he can put in his own words the vital meaning of the author. It should not be his purpose to attempt to improve on the writer’s style. It is true that some of the world’s greatest literary expressions would lose their highest significance if put in any other than their original form. This applies especially to verse form, for here the rhythmic movement is an inseparable element in the full expression of the idea. Some one has well said: “Style grows to the thought as the sea-shell to its occupant.” But at this point the aim is not to teach the pupil the mechanics of literature. He must be taught to think for himself and use the knowledge he gains so that it will be valuable in his own life.

Three Definite Aims to Gain Knowledge

Let us keep in mind the fact that the pupil is continually seeking information which will help him to live better. He is constantly trying to increase his cultural and practical powers. Of course book learning does not furnish all, but its contribution is immeasurable in its importance. Hence the pupil must learn to master the printed word as well as the spoken word. Here are three definite ends or aims to serve as motive power in getting the thought of the author:

First, the student must seek ideas and not words.

Second, he must seek to classify and organize facts.

Third, he must seek to turn his knowledge to some use.

Each Aim Illustrated

To illustrate the first aim, let us take the following lines from Hamlet:

Give me that man

That is not passion’s slave, and I will wear him

In my heart’s core, aye, in my heart of hearts,

As I do thee.

Shakespeare wished to point out the blessedness of that virtue, Independence. It is of little consequence to the pupil in this first step of his growth to make a comparison between Shakespeare’s method of expressing this truth, with that of Elbert Hubbard, who, speaking of Rowan, that man who delivered an important message to Garcia in the jungles of Cuba when we had decided to go to war with Spain, said:

By the Eternal! there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze and the statue placed in every college of the land. It is not book-learning young men need, nor instructions about this and that, but a stiffening of the vertebræ which will cause them to be loyal to a trust, to act promptly, concentrate their energies; do the thing—Carry a message to Garcia!

Is not the aim in both cases for the pupil to get the idea which the authors wish to impress upon his mind? In other words, the authors are not simply writing for art’s sake, as so many would have us believe. The pupil must get the author’s messages, so that they will help him in life, to be both independent or free from passion, and reliable or dependable in whatever he undertakes.

Let us advance to the second step: The classification and organization of facts mean more than the simple process of orderly arrangement. This has to do with translating what the author presents to the pupil in terms of his past experience. This is the process of judging values. Before we pigeon-hole new information, we pass judgment upon its relative importance. The pupil has experienced the value of punctuality, courage, optimism, etc. Now, when any new truth comes under his observation, it is not turned into knowledge until it has gone through his mental gristmill. What he hears, or sees, or feels, is not usable until it has been fitted into its particular niche, and this fitting process is brought about by likening the unknown to the known.

This brings us to the third step. Frederick Harrison has said: “Man’s business here is to know for the sake of living, not to live for the sake of knowing.” There is no better way of expressing the third step in the development of the student in intelligent reading. After he has learned to grasp the author’s thought readily, and then so reacts upon it that it becomes a part of his very being, his next step is to find an open market for the sale of his knowledge. This does not mean to sell for money in the narrow sense, but to put his understanding into actual daily life.

CHAPTER III
INVENTORY OF SPEECH EFFICIENCY

Before proceeding further, let us estimate our speech efficiency. Every conscientious person can determine the strong and weak points of his speech by asking himself a few questions. Some, more sensitive than others, will very likely magnify their weaknesses and minimize their commendable qualities. Be that as it may, the vast majority will give a fair rating to both good and bad vocal habits.

This personal consultation with yourself may take a long or a short time. Some are quick to see faults in themselves—and probably slow to correct them; still others are slow to see their own errors and probably never will correct them; but all careful and honest students will discover at once where they are lacking in the proper management of voice, and will proceed to overcome their difficulties.

In rating speech efficiency it is well to make use of the common questionnaire plan. The questions fall under two separate heads, namely, the Knowing and the Doing.

The Knowing

1. Do I realize that I use my voice almost constantly?

2. Do I realize that success in business or society depends largely upon the convincing power of speech?

3. Do I realize how much of my speech is of no avail?

4. Do I realize the vital importance of inflection and the influence it has upon those who hear me?

5. Do I realize the great delight that comes through the mastery of correct vocal usage?

6. Do I realize that it is unnecessary to have a tired throat at the end of the day?

7. Do I realize that in a very large degree a pleasing personality depends upon a pleasing voice?

8. Do I realize that by attaining convincing power of speech I am promoting my efficiency?

The Doing

1. Do I talk more than is necessary?

2. Do I pitch my voice too high?

3. Do I speak with a tense, set jaw and use a hard, metallic tone?

4. Do I talk in my throat instead of in my mouth?

5. Do I continually talk on the same key?

6. Do I talk too fast, or too slow, or too loud, or too low?

7. Do I use my voice as a medium by which I give vent to anger or displeasure?

8. Do I speak quietly and softly, and thus indicate culture and refinement?

9. Do I speak loudly in order to be persuasive?

10. Do I attract undue attention to my speech?

11. Do I enunciate with clearness and precision?

12. Do I harmonize tone with mood?

More items could be placed under these two headings, but the above are sufficient to bring the student face to face with his speech difficulties. We must know wherein we lack speech efficiency before we can remedy the lack. The following chapters present adequate exercises for needed improvement.

CHAPTER IV
ORAL READING

If the pupil is to enjoy logical and consistent development in expression, he must be taught along psychological lines. Teachers should never lose sight of the fact that what is good for one pupil is not always good for another. It is impossible to set down a set of rules which will govern alike all pupils. Only that teacher is worthy of the name who recognizes that every pupil presents more or less a separate problem.

Teacher’s First Great Task

The teacher’s first important task is to render the pupil rightly disposed. Some pupils are at once extremely anxious to be governed by the wisdom of their teachers, while others are skeptical and must serve an apprenticeship in imitation. Still others are perverse and must be coerced. It is the patient and long-suffering teacher whose highest hopes will be realized.

What Is Expression?

What is expression? We are told that all life is expression: The sudden summer shower, the leap of the wild cataract, the springing forth of early flowers, and the slow motion of the glacier all represent Nature expressing herself. The musician over the keyboard, the painter at his easel, the writer at his desk, represent art expressing herself. This is all true. But what about mankind as a whole, what about the vast majority of people who are not endowed with genius? Have they no universal and common mode of expression?

Greatest Educational Value

Here lies the great educational value of oral reading, of expressive speech. Their appeal should be universal and not confined to a talented few. It were better that those who have native ability were wholly neglected and allowed to express themselves in their own way, than that the vast majority have no training at all. It is the ungifted who should be aided rather than those who have been especially endowed by Nature.

The Desire to Express

The desire to express is common to all humanity from infancy to old age. The true aim of education should be to “draw out” that which is within us; in other words, to express ourselves—physically, mentally and spiritually. The world’s great personalities are those who have the greatest freedom of expression. They have mastered the power to reveal their inmost selves. They have profited by the truth that through exercise we grow. So we should continually aim to free those channels through which we communicate ourselves to the outside world, in order that our highest faculties be unshackled and be given perfect freedom.

The Channels of Expression

Let us consider briefly what are the chief avenues or channels of revealing what we are to others. Our first means is by movements of a part or all of the body. This we call the Physical Channel. Later in the development of man the location of sound in the throat was made. Man noted that when he experienced a certain mood, unconsciously he gave vent to a corresponding guttural noise or sound. This is called the Sound or Tone Channel. Lastly, man invented sound symbols—words. That is, certain vocal sounds represented certain objects and ideas. This we call the Word Channel.

Merging of the Channels

To sum up, we have three separate ways by which we can express what we think and feel. It is very important that the pupil, as well as the teacher, keep this fact in mind. If we are to be natural and successful in giving out what we really are, these three means must coördinate, must act harmoniously. That is, the body, or Physical Channel, must parallel the Word Channel, and the Tone Channel must parallel the Physical and Word Channel. Each must bear witness to the truth uttered by the other. When the fullness of each, freighted with human meaning, overflows, there is a merging of all three. The result is natural and intense expression. Our supreme purpose is to realize this triune of man’s expressive powers.

CHAPTER V
SELECTIONS FOR PART ONE

The preceding discussions should be kept in mind while studying the following selections. The primary purpose is to seek after the author’s thought. If we are able to relate clearly and fluently in our own words the content of what we have read, then we can feel assured that we have found out the meaning of the author.

First: Read the selection paragraph by paragraph. Then arrange in your mind the several points in their respective order. Now give them orally as simply and progressively as possible.

Second: Read the selection again by paragraphs and this time determine what are the important and unimportant words. Then give these important words a greater force of utterance.

Third: Do not fear to make many groups. We must first see the author’s ideas and pictures in broken bits. When we have thought clearly on each part of the whole, and have each part securely in mind, we can then surely and effectively put these separate parts into one complete picture.

THE DOUGLAS SQUIRREL

By John Muir

Go where you will throughout the noble woods of the Sierra Nevada, among the giant pines and spruces of the lower zones, up through the towering Silver Firs to the storm-bent thickets of the summit peaks, you everywhere find this little squirrel the master-existence. Though only a few inches long, so intense is his fiery vigor and restlessness, he stirs every grove with wild life, and makes himself more important than even the huge bears that shuffle through the tangled underbrush beneath him. Every wind is fretted by his voice, almost every bole and branch feel the sting of his sharp feet. How much the growth of the trees is stimulated by his means it is not easy to learn, but his action in manipulating their seeds is more appreciable. Nature has made him master forester and committed most of her coniferous crops to his paws. Probably over fifty per cent of all the cones ripened on the Sierra are cut off and handled by the Douglas alone, and of those of the Big Trees perhaps ninety per cent pass through his hands: the greater portion is of course stored away for food to last during the winter and spring, but some of them are tucked separately into loosely covered holes, where some of the seeds germinate and become trees....

One never tires of this bright chip of nature,—this brave little voice crying in the wilderness,—of observing his many works and ways, and listening to his curious language. His musical, piny gossip is as savory to the ear as balsam to the palate; and, though he has not exactly the gift of song, some of his notes are as sweet as those of a linnet—almost flute-like in softness, while others prick and tingle like thistles. He is the mocking-bird of squirrels, pouring forth mixed chatter and song like a perennial fountain; barking like a dog, screaming like a hawk, chirping like a blackbird or a sparrow; while in bluff, audacious noisiness he is a very jay.

In descending the trunk of a tree with the intention of alighting on the ground, he preserves a cautious silence, mindful, perhaps, of foxes and wildcats; but while rocking safely at home in the pine-tops there is no end to his capers and noise; and woe to the gray squirrel or chipmunk that ventures to set foot on his favorite tree! No matter how slyly they trace the furrows of the bark, they are speedily discovered, and kicked downstairs with comic vehemence, while a torrent of angry notes comes rushing from his whiskered lips that sounds remarkably like swearing. He will even attempt at times to drive away dogs and men, especially if he has had no previous knowledge of them. Seeing a man for the first time, he approaches nearer and nearer, until within a few feet; then, with angry outburst, he makes a sudden rush, all teeth and eyes, as if about to eat you up. But, finding that the big forked animal doesn’t scare, he prudently beats a retreat, and sets himself up to reconnoiter on some overhanging branch, scrutinizing every movement you make with ludicrous solemnity.

Mr. Muir thus tells of an amusing experience he had with a Douglas squirrel that he found at his breakfast:

Breakfast done, I whistled a tune for him before he went to work, curious to see how he would be affected by it. He had not seen me all this while; but the instant I began to whistle he darted up the tree nearest to him, and came out on a small dead limb opposite me, and composed himself to listen. I sang and whistled more than a dozen airs, and as the music changed his eyes sparkled, and he turned his head quickly from side to side, but made no other response. Other squirrels, hearing the strange sounds, came around on all sides, also chipmunks and birds. One of the birds, a handsome, speckle-breasted thrush, seemed even more interested than the squirrels. After listening for awhile on one of the lower dead sprays of a pine, he came swooping forward within a few feet of my face, and remained fluttering in the air for half a minute or so, sustaining himself with whirring wing-beats, like a humming-bird in front of a flower, while I could look into his eyes and see his innocent wonder.

By this time my performance must have lasted nearly half an hour. I sang or whistled “Bonnie Doon,” “Lass o’ Gowrie,” “O’er the Water to Charlie,” “Bonnie Woods o’ Cragie Lee,” etc., all of which seemed to be listened to with bright interest, my first Douglas sitting patiently through it all, with his telling eyes fixed upon me until I ventured to give the “Old Hundredth,” when he screamed his Indian name, Pillillooeet, turned tail, and darted with ludicrous haste up the tree out of sight, his voice and actions in the case leaving a somewhat profane impression, as if he had said, “I’ll be hanged if you get me to hear anything so solemn and unpiney.” This acted as a signal for the general dispersal of the whole hairy tribe, though the birds seemed willing to wait further developments, music being naturally more in their line.

What there can be in that grand old church tune that is so offensive to birds and squirrels I can’t imagine. A year or two after this High Sierra concert, I was sitting one fine day on a hill in the Coast Range, where the common Ground Squirrels were abundant. They were very shy on account of being hunted so much; but after I had been silent and motionless for half an hour or so they began to venture out of their holes and to feed on the seeds of the grasses and thistles around me as if I were no more to be feared than a tree-stump. Then it occurred to me that this was a good opportunity to find out whether they also disliked “Old Hundredth.” Therefore I began to whistle as nearly as I could remember the same familiar airs that had pleased the mountaineers of the Sierra. They at once stopped eating, stood erect and listened patiently until I came to “Old Hundredth,” when with ludicrous haste every one of them rushed in their holes and bolted in, their feet twinkling in the air for a moment as they vanished.—From “The Mountains of California,” copyrighted by The Century Company, New York, and used by their kind permission.

Nothing small! no lily-muffled hum of a summer-bee, but finds some coupling with the shining stars; no pebble at your feet but proves a sphere; no chaffinch, but implies the cherubim. Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God.

—Mrs. Browning.

Every clod feels a stir of might,

An instinct within it that reaches and towers,

And, groping blindly above it for light,

Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers.

—Lowell.

Once or twice in a lifetime we are permitted to enjoy the charm of noble manners, in the presence of a man or woman who have no bar in their nature, but whose character emanates freely in their word and gesture. A beautiful form is better than a beautiful face; a beautiful behavior is better than a beautiful form: it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures,—it is the finest of the fine arts. A man is but a little thing in the midst of the objects of nature, yet, by the moral quality radiating from his countenance, he may abolish all considerations of magnitude, and in his manners equal the majesty of the world. I have seen an individual, whose manners, though wholly within the conventions of elegant society, were never learned there, but were original and commanding, and held out protection and prosperity; one who did not need the aid of a court-suit, but carried the holiday in his eye; who exhilarated the fancy by flinging wide the doors of new modes of existence; who shook off the captivity of etiquette, with happy spirited bearing, good-natured and free as Robin Hood; yet with the port of an emperor, if need be, calm, serious, and fit to stand the gaze of millions.

—Emerson.

Look at ourselves. Look at man; his reason, intelligence, and discoveries. Look at him diving into the depths of the ocean, calculating the eclipses of the sun and moon, and making the elements subservient to his interest and his wants. Look at his capacities; review the ten thousand arguments that daily, nay, hourly, arise, and then tell me if there is the shadow of a doubt that a God, a retributive God, does rule the whirlwind and direct the storm.

—R. Ricker.

Education is a companion which no misfortune can depress—no crime can destroy—no enemy can alienate—no despotism enslave. At home, a friend—abroad, an introduction—in solitude, a solace—and in society, an ornament. It chastens vice—it guides virtue—it gives at once grace and government to genius—without it, what is Man? A splendid slave—a reasoning savage!

Just before Napoleon set out for the court of Belgium, he sent to the cleverest artisan of his class in Paris, and demanded of him whether he would engage to make a coat of mail, to be worn under the ordinary dress, which should be absolutely bullet-proof; and that if so, he might name his own price for such a work. The man engaged to make the desired object, if allowed proper time, and he named eighteen thousand francs as the price of it. The bargain was concluded, and in due time the work was produced, and its maker honored with a second audience of the emperor. “Now,” said his imperial majesty, “put it on.” The man did so. “As I am to stake my life on its efficacy, you will, I suppose, have no objections to do the same.” And he took a brace of pistols, and prepared to discharge one of them at the breast of the astonished artisan. There was no retreating, however, and half-dead with fear, he stood the fire, and, to the infinite credit of his work, with perfect impunity. But the emperor was not content with one trial; he fired the second pistol at the back of the trembling artisan, and afterwards discharged a fowling-piece at another part of him, with similar effect. “Well,” said the emperor, “you have produced a capital work, undoubtedly—what is the price of it?” “Eighteen thousand francs were named as the agreed sum.” “There is an order for them,” said the emperor, “and here is another, for an equal sum, for the fright that I gave you.”

WORK AND THE WORKER

By Theodore Roosevelt

There are any number of different kinds of work we have to do, all of which have to be done. There is the work of the farmer, the work of the business man, the work of the skilled mechanic, the work of the men to whom I owe my safety every day and every night—the work of the railroad men; the work of the lawyer, the work of the sailor, the work of the soldier, the work in ten thousand ways; it is all good work; it does not make any difference what work the man is doing if he does it well. If the man is a slacker, a shiftless creature, I wish we could get rid of him. He is of no use. In every occupation you will find some men whom you will have to carry. You cannot do much with them. Every one of us will stumble at times, and shame to the man who does not at such times stretch out a helping hand, but if the man lies down you cannot carry him to any permanent use. What I would plead for is that we recognize the fact that all must work, that we bring up our children to work, so that each respects the other. I do not care whether a man is a banker or a bricklayer; if he is a good banker or a good bricklayer he is a good citizen; if he is dishonest, if he is tricky, if he shirks his job or tries to cheat his neighbor, be he great or small, be he the poor man cheating the rich man, or the rich man oppressing the poor man, in either case he is a bad citizen.—Remarks at Berenda, California, May 18, 1903.

THE MUSIC OF AMERICA

By Roscoe Gilmore Stott

This is the Music of America:

Above the fret of a hundred routine duties and a thousand cares rises the clarion Soprano. It comes from the joyful throats of millions of women, blest beyond their sorrowing sisters who dwell on foreign shores. It is the voice of the clear-eyed schoolgirl, romping her happy way from a world of books into a gentler world of love; of the self-reliant sister who is facing the forces of business with spirit courageous and step that has never learned to falter; of the mother of a tender brood and, blended into the melody her own heart makes, the sweet, lisped crooning from the child at her bosom.

The Tenor notes are strong and full of golden promises. They come from souls that have climbed above the city’s boldest heights. They come from the souls of self-forgetful men—a proud nation’s watchers upon her towers whose eager eyes scan the far stretches that they may guard with loyalty against the perfidy of home or foreign foes. The Tenor is the united voices of the poets and philosophers, of the reformers and statesmen—yes, and of all that growing host who have scaled to the peak of some new Sinai, that the people may not forget the Almighty’s will concerning them.

Listen, and you will mark the rich, rounded tones of the Contralto—from the great-hearted organizations of Charity. Mingled into one vast, sweeping tone—quivering with sympathy, vibrant with a heart’s best faith—is the voice of the nurse, bending above some frail or stricken sufferer; the voice of the matron at the threshold of some gracious Door of Hope; the voice of the orphanage, the voice of the infirmary, the voice of the rescue mission, the voice of the Salvation Army, the voice of the Red Cross, the voice of the Christian Association, the voice of the Church.

And underneath the united harmony of Soprano and Contralto, under the inspiring silver thread of Tenor, there comes the wonderful support of all, the basis of a nation’s Song of Hope—the splendid and terrible contribution of strong-armed, mighty-limbed Labor—the Bass. In the low, deep resonance of the singer’s rare volume one may catch a vision of men, stern of visage and powerful in action, dominated by the happy unity of Will and Service, pouring down into depths of Mother Earth, that other men may have homes that radiate a social warmth; a vision of men at forge and flame, at plow and pruning-hook, at threshing-machine and throttle. The mighty voice thrills with the shriek of a million factory whistles, of sea and river craft, of rushing locomotives competing against Time and Space.... Underneath all, the splendid and terrible tones of a giant singer.

So, let us be glad and rejoice! The All-King, as He sits on the White Throne, marshaling His worlds, pauses. He bends a listening ear, and surely His heart is made glad with an overpowering happiness as His ears catch the strains of a grateful people’s reverence—as He listens to the Music of America!—From The Ladies Home Journal.

THE VIRTUES OF LOVE

By Saint Paul the Apostle

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away.

For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.—I Corinthians, XIII.

THE MAJESTY OF THE OCEAN

By “Proteus”

My first view of it was on a clear, but gusty afternoon of autumn. The winds had been abroad for many hours; and as I looked seaward from the high promontory, and beheld the long, rough surges rushing towards me, and listened to their wild roar as they were flung back from the caverned battlements at my feet, I felt as if the pillars of the universe were shaken around me, and stood awed and abashed before the majesty of excited nature. Since then, I have been on lofty precipices while the thunder-cloud was bursting below me—have leaned over the trembling brink of Niagara, and walked within its awful chambers, but the thrill of that moment has never returned. The feeling of awe, however, gradually gave place to an intense but pleasing emotion, and I longed to spring away from the tame and trodden earth, to that wild, mysterious world, whose strange scenes broke so magnificently upon my vision. No wonder that our first roving impulses are towards the ocean. No wonder that the romance and adventurous spirit of youth deems lightly of hardship and peril, when aroused by its stirring presentations. There is something so winning in the multiplied superstitions of its hardy wanderers—something so fascinating in its calm beauty, and so animating in its stormy recklessness, that the ties of country and kindred sit looser at our hearts, as curiosity whispers of its unseen wonders. In after years, when the bloom of existence has lost much of its brightness, when curiosity has become enervated, and the powers of the imagination palsied, where do we sooner return to renew their former pleasing excitement, than to our remembered haunts by the ocean? We leave behind us all the splendor and magnificence of art, all the voluptuous gratifications of society—we break from the banquet and the dance, and fly away to the solitary cliffs, where the sea-bird hides her nest. There the cares, perplexities, and rude jostlings of opposing interests are for a while forgotten. There the turmoil of human intercourse disquiets no longer. There the sweat and dust of the crowded city are dispelled as the cool sea-breeze comes gently athwart our feverish brow. In the exhilaration of the scene, the blood gathers purer at the heart—its pulse-beat is softer, and we feel once more a newness of life, amounting almost to a transport. Delightful remembrances, that lie buried up under the dross of the past, are reanimated, and the charm, the peace, and the freshness of life’s morning innocence again finds in our bosom a welcome and a home. The elastic spring of boyhood is in our step as we chase the receding wave along the white beach, or leap wildly into its glassy depths. In the low, billowy murmur that steals out upon the air, our ear catches the pleasant, but long unheard music of other years, like the remembered voice of a departed companion; and while leaning over some beetling crag, glorious visions pass, thronging before our eyes, as, in fancy, we rove through the coral groves, where the mermaids have their emerald bower, or gaze at the hidden beauties, the uncoveted gems, and the glittering argosies that repose amid the stilly waters. The soul goes forth, as it were, to the hallowed and undefiled temples of nature, to be purified of its earthly contamination. She takes to herself wings, and flies away to the “uttermost parts of the sea,” and even there she hears the voice of the Divine, witnesses the manifestations of His power, experiences the kind guardianship of His presence, and returns cheered and invigorated to renew her weary pilgrimage.

THE GRAY DAYS

By Robert J. Burdette

You don’t love the gray days now. You want the sunshiny days, the roses and the carnations. Let me tell you, children, you will love the gray days just as well when they come. Some day, when the heart is wearied, when the eyes are hot and tired and dry with weeping, when the face is burned by the noonday sun, you will know how like a kiss of blessedness from heaven comes the soft, cool touch of the mist, creeping up out of the sea or coming down over the mountain, until it folds you as the wings of a dove, and shuts you in with peace and rest and hope, and the tenderness of God. Oh, you will thank God again and again for the gray days.

THE PRESENT CRISIS

By James Russell Lowell

When a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth’s aching breast

Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to west,

And the slave, where’er he cowers, feels the soul within him climb

To the awful verge of manhood, as the energy sublime

Of a century bursts full-blossomed on the thorny stem of Time.

Through the walls of hut and palace shoots the instantaneous throe,

When the travail of the Ages wrings earth’s systems to and fro;

At the birth of each new Era, with a recognizing start,

Nation wildly looks at nation, standing with mute lips apart,

And glad Truth’s yet mightier man-child leaps beneath the Future’s heart.

So the Evil’s triumph sendeth, with a terror and a chill,

Under continent to continent, the sense of coming ill,

And the slave, where’er he cowers, feels his sympathies with God

In hot tear-drops ebbing earthward, to be drunk up by the sod,

Till a corpse crawls round unburied, delving in the nobler clod.

For mankind are one in spirit, and an instinct bears along

Round the earth’s electric circle, the swift flash of right or wrong

Whether conscious or unconscious, yet Humanity’s vast frame

Through its ocean-sundered fibers feels the gush of joy or shame:—

In the gain or loss of one race all the rest have equal claim.

Once to every man and nation comes the moment to decide,

In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the good or evil side;

Some great cause, God’s new Messiah offering each the bloom or blight

Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the sheep upon the right,

And the choice goes by forever ’twixt that darkness and that light.

Hast thou chosen, O my people, in whose party thou shalt stand,

Ere the Doom from its worn sandals shakes the dust against our land?

Though the cause of Evil prosper, yet ’tis Truth alone is strong,

And, albeit she wander outcast now, I see around her throng

Troops of beautiful, tall angels, to enshield her from all wrong.

Backward look across the ages and the beacon-moments see,

That, like peaks of some sunk continent, jut through Oblivion’s sea;

Not an ear in court or market for the low foreboding cry

Of those crises, God’s stern winnowers, from whose feet earth’s chaff must fly,

Never shows the choice momentous till the judgment hath passed by.

Careless seems the great Avenger; history’s pages but record

One death-grapple in the darkness ’twixt old systems and the Word;

Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on the throne,—

Yet that scaffold sways the future, and, behind the dim unknown,

Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own.

We see dimly in the Present what is small and what is great,

Slow of faith, how weak an arm may turn the iron helm of fate,

But the soul is still oracular; amid the market’s din,

List the ominous stern whisper from the Delphic cave within,—

“They enslave their children’s children who make compromise with sin.”

CHAPTER VI
ARTICULATION EXERCISES

The pronunciations and definitions throughout these pages are those given in “Webster’s New International Dictionary,” published by G. & C. Merriam Co., Springfield, Mass., 1918 Edition.

Without a graceful and pleasing enunciation, all your elegancy of style in speaking is not worth a farthing.

—Chesterfield.

In the utterance of words we are concerned with the following terms: Pronunciation, Enunciation and Articulation. In a general way their meanings are identical, but yet there is a mark of difference characterizing each.

Pronunciation has to do with the act of uttering a single letter, syllable, word, sentence, or whole address. This concerns correctness.

Enunciation has to do with careful, distinct utterance so that any word or any part of a word is completely audible. This concerns distinctness.

Articulation has to do with the act of gracefully and skillfully manipulating those organs of speech necessary for the correct pronunciation and distinct enunciation of words. This concerns skillfulness.

At least a part of the following exercises should be practiced daily, preferably in the morning. A few minutes’ practice is a splendid tonic for the tasks of the day.

I. For the Lips and Jaw

1. Repeat e a aw ah o oo. In doing this extend the lips and use a relaxed jaw.

2. Repeat again, giving a rising inflection to each. Then give each sound the falling inflection, and then the circumflex inflection.

3. Intone them on successive pitches. Be sure you have pure vowel quality.

4. Whisper the sounds e aw permitting the jaw, in the latter sound, to drop completely relaxed each time.

II. For Lips, Tongue and Soft Palate

1. Repeat eb ab awb ahb ob oob.

2. Repeat ed ad awd ahd od ood.

3. Repeat eg ag awg ahg og oog.

4. Repeat ek ak awk ahk ok ook.

III. The Aspirates, or Breath Sounds

1. Repeat the breath sound of p wh f th s t sh h k.

2. Repeat wh (when) whe wha whaw whah who whoo.

3. Repeat fe fa faw fah fo foo.

4. Repeat th (thin) the tha thaw thah tho thoo.

5. Repeat se sa saw sah so soo.

6. Repeat te ta taw tah to too.

7. Repeat she sha shaw shah sho shoo.

8. Repeat he ha haw hah ho hoo.

9. Repeat ke ka kaw kah ko koo.

10. Repeat pe pa paw pah po poo.

IV. The Sub-Vocal Sounds

1. Repeat the vocal sound of b w th v z d r zh y g.

2. Repeat be ba baw bah bo boo.

3. Repeat w (wise) we wa waw wah wo woo.

4. Repeat ve va vaw vah vo voo.

5. Repeat ze za zaw zah zo zoo.

6. Repeat de da daw dah do doo.

7. Repeat re ra raw rah ro roo.

8. Repeat zhe zha zhaw zhah zho zhoo.

9. Repeat ye ya yaw yah yo yoo.

10. Repeat ge ga gaw gah go goo.

11. Repeat th (thine) the tha thaw thah tho thoo.

V. The Liquid Sounds