The Art of Public Speaking
so potent for good as that which goes out from an upright life. A sermon
may be answered; the arguments presented in a speech may be disputed,
but no one can answer a Christian life--it is the unanswerable argument
in favor of our religion.
It may be a slow process--this conversion of the world by the silent
influence of a noble example--but it is the only sure one, and the
doctrine applies to nations as well as to individuals. The Gospel of the
Prince of Peace gives us the only hope that the world has--and it is an
increasing hope--of the substitution of reason for the arbitrament of
force in the settlement of international disputes. And our nation ought
not to wait for other nations--it ought to take the lead and prove its
faith in the omnipotence of truth.
But Christ has given us a platform so fundamental that it can be applied
successfully to all controversies. We are interested in platforms; we
attend conventions, sometimes traveling long distances; we have wordy
wars over the phraseology of various planks, and then we wage earnest
campaigns to secure the endorsement of these platforms at the polls. The
platform given to the world by The Prince of Peace is more far-reaching
and more comprehensive than any platform ever written by the convention
of any party in any country. When He condensed into one commandment
those of the ten which relate to man's duty toward his fellows and
enjoined upon us the rule, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself," He
presented a plan for the solution of all the problems that now vex
society or may hereafter arise. Other remedies may palliate or postpone
the day of settlement, but this is all-sufficient and the
reconciliation which it effects is a permanent one.
My faith in the future--and I have faith--and my optimism--for I am an
optimist--my faith and my optimism rest upon the belief that Christ's
teachings are being more studied to-day than ever before, and that with
this larger study will come a larger application of those teachings to
the everyday life of the world, and to the questions with which we deal.
In former times when men read that Christ came "to bring life and
immortality to light," they placed the emphasis upon immortality; now
they are studying Christ's relation to human life. People used to read
the Bible to find out what it said of Heaven; now they read it more to
find what light it throws upon the pathway of to-day. In former years
many thought to prepare themselves for future bliss by a life of
seclusion here; we are learning that to follow in the footsteps of the
Master we must go about doing good. Christ declared that He came that we
might have life and have it more abundantly. The world is learning that
Christ came not to narrow life, but to enlarge it--not to rob it of its
joy, but to fill it to overflowing with purpose, earnestness and
happiness.
But this Prince of Peace promises not only peace but strength. Some have
thought His teachings fit only for the weak and the timid and unsuited
to men of vigor, energy and ambition. Nothing could be farther from the
truth. Only the man of faith can be courageous. Confident that he fights
on the side of Jehovah, he doubts not the success of his cause. What
matters it whether he shares in the shouts of triumph? If every word
spoken in behalf of truth has its influence and every deed done for the
right weighs in the final account, it is immaterial to the Christian
whether his eyes behold victory or whether he dies in the midst of the
conflict.
"Yea, tho thou lie upon the dust,
When they who helped thee flee in fear,
Die full of hope and manly trust,
Like those who fell in battle here.
Another hand thy sword shall wield,
Another hand the standard wave,
Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealed,
The blast of triumph o'er thy grave."
Only those who _believe_ attempt the seemingly impossible, and, by
attempting, prove that one, with God, can chase a thousand and that two
can put ten thousand to flight. I can imagine that the early Christians
who were carried into the coliseum to make a spectacle for those more
savage than the beasts, were entreated by their doubting companions not
to endanger their lives. But, kneeling in the center of the arena, they
prayed and sang until they were devoured. How helpless they seemed, and,
measured by every human rule, how hopeless was their cause! And yet
within a few decades the power which they invoked proved mightier than
the legions of the emperor and the faith in which they died was
triumphant o'er all the land. It is said that those who went to mock at
their sufferings returned asking themselves, "What is it that can enter
into the heart of man and make him die as these die?" They were greater
conquerors in their death than they could have been had they purchased
life by a surrender of their faith.
What would have been the fate of the church if the early Christians had
had as little faith as many of our Christians of to-day? And if the
Christians of to-day had the faith of the martyrs, how long would it be
before the fulfilment of the prophecy that "every knee shall bow and
every tongue confess?"
I am glad that He, who is called the Prince of Peace--who can bring
peace to every troubled heart and whose teachings, exemplified in life,
will bring peace between man and man, between community and community,
between State and State, between nation and nation throughout the
world--I am glad that He brings courage as well as peace so that those
who follow Him may take up and each day bravely do the duties that to
that day fall.
As the Christian grows older he appreciates more and more the
completeness with which Christ satisfies the longings of the heart, and,
grateful for the peace which he enjoys and for the strength which he has
received, he repeats the words of the great scholar, Sir William Jones:
"Before thy mystic altar, heavenly truth,
I kneel in manhood, as I knelt in youth,
Thus let me kneel, till this dull form decay,
And life's last shade be brightened by thy ray."
_RUFUS CHOATE_
EULOGY OF WEBSTER
Delivered at Dartmouth College, July 27, 1853.
Webster possessed the element of an impressive character, inspiring
regard, trust and admiration, not unmingled with love. It had, I think,
intrinsically a charm such as belongs only to a good, noble, and
beautiful nature. In its combination with so much fame, so much force of
will, and so much intellect, it filled and fascinated the imagination
and heart. It was affectionate in childhood and youth, and it was more
than ever so in the few last months of his long life. It is the
universal testimony that he gave to his parents, in largest measure,
honor, love, obedience; that he eagerly appropriated the first means
which he could command to relieve the father from the debts contracted
to educate his brother and himself; that he selected his first place of
professional practice that he might soothe the coming on of his old age.
Equally beautiful was his love of all his kindred and of all his
friends. When I hear him accused of selfishness, and a cold, bad nature,
I recall him lying sleepless all night, not without tears of boyhood,
conferring with Ezekiel how the darling desire of both hearts should be
compassed, and he, too, admitted to the precious privileges of
education; courageously pleading the cause of both brothers in the
morning; prevailing by the wise and discerning affection of the mother;
suspending his studies of the law, and registering deeds and teaching
school to earn the means, for both, of availing themselves of the
opportunity which the parental self-sacrifice had placed within their
reach; loving him through life, mourning him when dead, with a love and
a sorrow very wonderful, passing the sorrow of woman; I recall the
husband, the father of the living and of the early departed, the friend,
the counselor of many years, and my heart grows too full and liquid for
the refutation of words.
His affectionate nature, craving ever friendship, as well as the
presence of kindred blood, diffused itself through all his private life,
gave sincerity to all his hospitalities, kindness to his eye, warmth to
the pressure of his hand, made his greatness and genius unbend
themselves to the playfulness of childhood, flowed out in graceful
memories indulged of the past or the dead, of incidents when life was
young and promised to be happy,--gave generous sketches of his
rivals,--the high contention now hidden by the handful of earth,--hours
passed fifty years ago with great authors, recalled for the vernal
emotions which then they made to live and revel in the soul. And from
these conversations of friendship, no man--no man, old or young--went
away to remember one word of profaneness, one allusion of indelicacy,
one impure thought, one unbelieving suggestion, one doubt cast on the
reality of virtue, of patriotism, of enthusiasm, of the progress of
man,--one doubt cast on righteousness, or temperance, or judgment to
come.
I have learned by evidence the most direct and satisfactory that in the
last months of his life, the whole affectionateness of his nature--his
consideration of others, his gentleness, his desire to make them happy
and to see them happy--seemed to come out in more and more beautiful and
habitual expressions than ever before. The long day's public tasks were
felt to be done; the cares, the uncertainties, the mental conflicts of
high place, were ended; and he came home to recover himself for the few
years which he might still expect would be his before he should go hence
to be here no more. And there, I am assured and duly believe, no
unbecoming regrets pursued him; no discontent, as for injustice suffered
or expectations unfulfilled; no self-reproach for anything done or
anything omitted by himself; no irritation, no peevishness unworthy of
his noble nature; but instead, love and hope for his country, when she
became the subject of conversation, and for all around him, the dearest
and most indifferent, for all breathing things about him, the overflow
of the kindest heart growing in gentleness and benevolence--paternal,
patriarchal affections, seeming to become more natural, warm, and
communicative every hour. Softer and yet brighter grew the tints on the
sky of parting day; and the last lingering rays, more even than the
glories of noon, announced how divine was the source from which they
proceeded; how incapable to be quenched; how certain to rise on a
morning which no night should follow.
Such a character was made to be loved. It was loved. Those who knew and
saw it in its hour of calm--those who could repose on that soft
green--loved him. His plain neighbors loved him; and one said, when he
was laid in his grave, "How lonesome the world seems!" Educated young
men loved him. The ministers of the gospel, the general intelligence of
the country, the masses afar oft, loved him. True, they had not found in
his speeches, read by millions, so much adulation of the people; so much
of the music which robs the public reason of itself; so many phrases of
humanity and philanthropy; and some had told them he was lofty and
cold--solitary in his greatness; but every year they came nearer and
nearer to him, and as they came nearer, they loved him better; they
heard how tender the son had been, the husband, the brother, the father,
the friend, and neighbor; that he was plain, simple, natural, generous,
hospitable--the heart larger than the brain; that he loved little
children and reverenced God, the Scriptures, the Sabbath-day, the
Constitution, and the law--and their hearts clave unto him. More truly
of him than even of the great naval darling of England might it be said