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CHAPTER 2 INTERNATIONAL MONETARY SYSTEM
ANSWERS & SOLUTIONS TO END-OF-CHAPTER QUESTIONS AND PROBLEMS

QUESTIONS

1. Explain Gresham’s Law.

Answer: Gresham’s law refers to the phenomenon that bad (abundant) money drives good
(scarce) money out of circulation. This kind of phenomenon was often observed under the
bimetallic standard under which both gold and silver were used as means of payments, with the
exchange rate between the two fixed.

2. Explain the mechanism which restores the balance of payments equilibrium when it is
disturbed under the gold standard.

Answer: The adjustment mechanism under the gold standard is referred to as the price-specie-
flow mechanism expounded by David Hume. Under the gold standard, a balance of payment
disequilibrium will be corrected by a counter-flow of gold. Suppose that the U.S. imports more
from the U.K. than it exports to the latter. Under the classical gold standard, gold, which is the
only means of international payments, will flow from the U.S. to the U.K. As a result, the U.S.
(U.K.) will experience a decrease (increase) in money supply. This means that the price level
will tend to fall in the U.S. and rise in the U.K. Consequently, the U.S. products become more
competitive in the export market, while U.K. products become less competitive. This change will
improve U.S. balance of payments and at the same time hurt the U.K. balance of payments,
eventually eliminating the initial BOP disequilibrium.
3. Suppose that the pound is pegged to gold at 6 pounds per ounce, whereas the franc is
pegged to gold at 12 francs per ounce. This, of course, implies that the equilibrium exchange
rate should be two francs per pound. If the current market exchange rate is 2.2 francs per
pound, how would you take advantage of this situation? What would be the effect of shipping
costs?

© 2012 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution in any
manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
Answer: Suppose that you need to buy 6 pounds using French francs. If you buy 6 pounds directly
in the foreign exchange market, it will cost you 13.2 francs. Alternatively, you can first buy an
ounce of gold for 12 francs in France and then ship it to England and sell it for 6 pounds. In this
case, it only costs you 12 francs to buy 6 pounds. It is thus beneficial to ship gold due to the
overpricing of the pound. Of course, you can make an arbitrage profit by selling 6 pounds for
13.2 francs in the foreign exchange market. The arbitrage profit will be 1.2 francs. So far, we
assumed that shipping costs do not exist. If it costs more than 1.2 francs to ship an ounce of gold,
there will be no arbitrage profit.

4. Discuss the advantages and disadvantages of the gold standard.

Answer: The advantages of the gold standard include: (I) since the supply of gold is restricted,
countries cannot have high inflation; (2) any BOP disequilibrium can be corrected automatically
through cross-border flows of gold. On the other hand, the main disadvantages of the gold
standard are: (I) the world economy can be subject to deflationary pressure due to restricted
supply of gold; (ii) the gold standard itself has no mechanism to enforce the rules of the game,
and, as a result, countries may pursue economic policies (like de-monetization of gold) that are
incompatible with the gold standard.

5. What were the main objectives of the Bretton Woods system?

Answer: The main objectives of the Bretton Woods system are to achieve exchange rate
stability and promote international trade and development.

6. Comment on the proposition that the Bretton Woods system was programmed to an eventual
demise.

Answer: The answer to this question is related to the Triffin paradox. Under the gold-exchange
system, the reserve-currency country should run BOP deficits to supply reserves to the world
economy, but if the deficits are large and persistent, they can lead to a crisis of confidence in
the reserve currency itself, eventually causing the downfall of the system.

© 2012 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution in any
manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
7. Explain how special drawing rights (SDR) are constructed. Also, discuss the circumstances
under which the SDR was created.

Answer: SDR was created by the IMF in 1970 as a new reserve asset, partially to alleviate the
pressure on the U.S. dollar as the key reserve currency. The SDR is a basket currency currently
comprised of four major currencies, i.e., U.S. dollar, euro, Japanese yen, and British pound.
Currently, the dollar receives a 41.9% weight, euro 37.4%, yen 9.4%, and pound 11.3%. The
weights for different currencies tend to change over time, reflecting the relative importance of each
currency in international trade and finance.

8. Explain the arrangements and workings of the European Monetary System (EMS).

Answer: EMS was launched in 1979 in order to (i) establish a zone of monetary stability in Europe,
(ii) coordinate exchange rate policies against the non-EMS currencies, and (iii) pave the way for
the eventual European monetary union. The main instruments of EMS are the European Currency
Unit (ECU) and the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM). Like SDR, the ECU is a basket
currency constructed as a weighted average of currencies of EU member countries. The ECU
works as the accounting unit of EMS and plays an important role in the workings of the ERM. The
ERM is the procedure by which EMS member countries manage their exchange rates. The
ERM is based on a parity grid system, with parity grids first computed by defining the par values
of EMS currencies in terms of the ECU. If a country’s ECU market exchange rate diverges from
the central rate by as much as the maximum allowable deviation, the country has to adjust its
policies to maintain its par values relative to other currencies. EMS achieved a complete monetary
union in 1999 when the common European currency, the euro, was adopted.

9. There are arguments for and against the alternative exchange rate regimes.
a. List the advantages of the flexible exchange rate regime.
b. Criticize the flexible exchange rate regime from the viewpoint of the proponents of the fixed
exchange rate regime.
c. Rebut the above criticism from the viewpoint of the proponents of the flexible exchange rate
regime.

© 2012 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution in any
manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
Answer: a. The advantages of the flexible exchange rate system include: (I) automatic
achievement of balance of payments equilibrium and (ii) maintenance of national policy autonomy.
b. If exchange rates are fluctuating randomly, that may discourage international trade and
encourage market segmentation. This, in turn, may lead to suboptimal allocation of resources.
c. Economic agents can hedge exchange risk by means of forward contracts and other
techniques. They don’t have to bear it if they choose not to. In addition, under a fixed exchange
rate regime, governments often restrict international trade in order to maintain the exchange
rate. This is a self-defeating measure. What’s good about the fixed exchange rate if international
trade need to be restricted?

10. In an integrated world financial market, a financial crisis in a country can be quickly
transmitted to other countries, causing a global crisis. What kind of measures would you
propose to prevent the recurrence of an Asia-type crisis.

Answer: First, there should be a multinational safety net to safeguard the world financial system
from the Asia-type crisis. Second, international institutions like IMF and the World Bank should
monitor problematic countries more closely and provide timely advice to those countries. Countries
should be required to fully disclose economic and financial information so that devaluation
surprises can be prevented. Third, countries should depend more on domestic savings and long-
term foreign investments, rather than short-term portfolio capital. There can be other suggestions.

11. Discuss the criteria for a ‘good’ international monetary system.

Answer: A good international monetary system should provide (i) sufficient liquidity to the world
economy, (ii) smooth adjustments to BOP disequilibrium as it arises, and (iii) safeguard against
the crisis of confidence in the system.

12. Once capital markets are integrated, it is difficult for a country to maintain a fixed exchange
rate. Explain why this may be so.

Answer: Once capital markets are integrated internationally, vast amounts of money may flow in
and out of a country in a short time period. This will make it very difficult for the country to

© 2012 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution in any
manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
maintain a fixed exchange rate.

13. Assess the possibility for the euro to become another global currency rivaling the U.S.
dollar. If the euro really becomes a global currency, what impact will it have on the U.S. dollar
and the world economy?

Answer: In light of the large transactions domain of the euro, which is comparable to that of the
U.S. dollar, and the mandate for the European Central Bank (ECB) to guarantee the monetary
stability in Europe, the euro may potentially become another global currency over time. A major
uncertainty about this prospect is the lack of political (and fiscal) integration of Europe. If Europe
becomes politically more integrated, the euro is more likely to become a global currency. If the
euro becomes a global currency, it will come at the expense of the dollar. Currently, the U.S.
derives substantial benefits from the dollar’s status as the dominant global currency – for instance,
the U.S. can run trade deficits without having to maintain substantial foreign exchange reserves,
can carry out international commercial and financial transactions in dollars without bearing
exchange risk, etc. If the euro is to be used as a major denomination, reserve, and invoice
currency in the world economy, dollar-based agents will start to bear more exchange risk,
among other things.

MINI CASE: WILL THE UNITED KINGDOM JOIN THE EURO CLUB?

When the euro was introduced in January 1999, the United Kingdom was conspicuously
absent from the list of European countries adopting the common currency. Although the
previous Labor government led by Prime Minister Tony Blair appeared to be receptive to the
idea joining the euro club, the current Tory government is clearly not in favor of adopting the
euro and thus giving up monetary sovereignty of the country. The public opinion is also divided
on the issue.
Whether the United Kingdom will eventually join the euro club is a matter of considerable
importance for the future of European Union as well as that of the United Kingdom. The joining
of the United Kingdom with its sophisticated finance industry will most certainly help propel the
euro into a global currency status rivaling the U.S. dollar. The United Kingdom on its part will firmly
join the process of economic and political unionization of Europe, abandoning its traditional
balancing role.

© 2012 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution in any
manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
 Investigate the political, economic and historical situations surrounding the British
participation in the European economic and monetary integration and write your own
assessment of the prospect of Britain joining the euro club. In dong so, assess from the British
perspective, among other things, (1) potential benefits and costs of adopting the euro, (2)
economic and political constraints facing the country, and (3) the potential impact of British
adoption of the euro on the international financial system, including the role of the U.S. dollar.

Suggested Solution to Will the United Kingdom Join the Euro Club?

Whether the U.K. will join the euro club will be a political as much as economic decision.
Recently, the U.K. economy was converging with those of euro-zone countries. Economic
conditions in terms of government budgets, interest rates, and inflation rate are becoming
similar to those in euro-zone countries. On an economic ground, this convergence is creating a
condition that is conducive to U.K.’s joining the euro club. As pointed out by Wim Duisenberg,
the former president of the European Central Bank, British opposition to joining the euro club is
more “psycho-political” than justified on economic grounds. Since many political leaders in
France and Germany consider adoption of the euro as a step toward the European political
union, the U.K. is likely to join the euro-zone if it is prepared to join the European political union
as well. Once the U.K. joins the euro-zone, the euro will no doubt become a global currency
rivaling the U.S. dollar.

© 2012 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution in any
manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
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in its proper place, and the speaker is perfectly calm and self-
confident. He is sure that his memory will not fail in the opening,
and will usually throw his whole power into it, causing his voice to
ring clear and loud over the house. But it is different with the
extempore speaker. He is sure of nothing, and the weight of the
whole speech is heavy on his mind. He is glancing ahead, striving to
forecast the coming sentences, as well as caring for those gliding
over the tongue, and his first expressions may be feeble and
ungraceful. Yet this display of modesty and timidity will conciliate the
audience and secure their good will. We can scarcely fail to
distinguish an extemporized discourse from a recited one, by the
difference in the introduction alone.
Some persons commit the opening passages of the sermon, to avoid
the pain and hesitancy of an unstudied beginning. But while this
may accomplish the immediate object, it is apt to be at the expense
of the remaining part of the discourse. The mind cannot pass easily
from recitation to extemporization, and the voice, being too freely
used at first, loses its power. The hearers having listened to highly
polished language, cannot so well relish the plain words that follow,
and the whole sermon, which, like the condor, may have pitched
from Alpine summits, falls fast and far until the lowest level is
reached. A written introduction may be modest and unpretending,
but unless it is exactly like unstudied speech there will be a painful
transition.
A favorite method of avoiding these difficulties is to make no formal
introduction, but plunge at once into the heart of the subject.
Occasionally, this can be done to good advantage, and tends to
prevent a monotonous uniformity. But as a rule it is better to
prepare the minds of our hearers by all needed observations, and
gradually lead them to our subject.
The introduction should not be left to the chance of the moment. It
requires more careful study than any other part of the sermon, for
the tide of speech, which may afterward bear us over many barriers,
is not then in full flow. But the preparation should be general, and
not extend to the words. A first sentence may be forecast, but much
beyond this will do harm. For the introduction should not be the part
of the discourse longest remembered. It would be better to omit it,
than to have the attention distracted from the main subject. For this
reason nothing far-fetched or hard to be understood should be
admitted. But, beginning with some familiar thought closely
connected with the text, it should remove difficulties and open the
whole subject for discussion.
Much is gained if, at the outset, we can arrest the attention and win
the sympathy of our hearers. They come together from many
different employments, with thoughts fixed on various objects, and it
is a difficult task to remove these distracting influences and cause
the assembly to dwell with intense interest on one subject.
Sometimes a startling proposition will accomplish this end.
Earnestness in the speaker tends powerfully toward it. But sameness
must be carefully avoided. If every sermon is carried through an
unvarying number of always-expressed divisions and subdivisions,
the hearer knows what is coming, and loses all curiosity. We have
heard of a minister who made it a rule to consider the nature,
reason and manner of everything he spoke of. He would ask the
questions: “What is it? Why is it? How is it?” The eloquence of Paul
would not many times have redeemed such an arrangement.
A considerable degree of inattention is to be expected in every
audience at first, and the speaker’s opening words may be unheard
by many and unheeded by all. It is useless to attempt by violent
means and loudness of voice to awaken them from their
indifference. The preacher may safely bide his time. If his words
have weight and his manner indicate confidence, one by one will
listen, until that electric thrill of sympathy, impossible to describe,
but which can be felt as easily as an accord in music, will vibrate
through the hearts of all present. Then the orator’s power is fully
developed, and it is delightful to use it. This silent, pulsating interest
is more to be desired than vehement applause, for it cannot be
counterfeited, and indicates that the hearts of the assemblage have
been reached, and fused by the fires of eloquence, and are ready to
be molded into any desired form. Happy the minister who has this
experience, for if his own heart is enlightened by the Holy Spirit, he
can stamp on the awakened multitude the seal of undying truth.
The introduction should be plain, simple and direct. But its very
simplicity renders it more difficult to construct. Preachers who are
great in almost everything else, often fail by making their
introductions too complicated, thus defeating their own purpose as
surely as the engineer who gives his road such steep grades, that no
train can pass over it. Others deliver a string of platitudes that no
one wishes to hear, and the audience grows restive at the very
beginning.
When from these or other causes, the sermon is misbegun, the
consequences are likely to be serious. The thought is forced home
on the speaker, with icy weight, that he is failing, and this conviction
paralyzes all his faculties. He talks on, but grows more and more
embarrassed. Incoherent sentences drop from him, requiring painful
explanation to prevent them from degenerating into perfect
nonsense. The outline of his plan dissolves into mist. The points he
intended to make, and thought strong and important, now appear
very trivial. He blunders on with little hope ahead. The room may
grow dark before him, and in the excess of his discomfort, he
ardently longs for the time when he can close without absolute
disgrace. But, alas! the end seems far off. In vain he searches for
some avenue of escape. There is none. His throat becomes dry and
parched, and the command of his voice is lost. The audience grow
restive, for they are tortured, as well as the speaker, and if he were
malicious he might find some alleviation in this. But he has no time
to think of it, or if he does, it reacts on himself. No one can help
him. At last, in sheer desperation, he cuts the Gordian knot, and
stops—perhaps seizing some swelling sentence, and hurling it as a
farewell volley at the audience—or speaks of the eternal rest, which
no doubt appears very blissful in comparison with his own unrest—
then sits down bathed in sweat, and feeling that he is disgraced
forever! If he is very weak or foolish, he resolves that he will never
speak again without manuscript, or, if wiser, that he will not only
understand his discourse, but how to begin it.
The passage from the introduction to the discussion should be
gradual. To make the transition smoothly, and strike the subject just
at the right point, continuing the interest that may have been
previously excited, is a most important achievement. A strong,
definite purpose materially assists in this, for it dwells equally in all
parts of the sermon. The object is clearly in view, and we go right up
to it with no wasted words, while the people cheerfully submit to our
guidance because they see that we have an aim before us. But if
this be absent we may steer around our subject, and are never quite
ready to enter upon it, even if we are not wrecked at the outset. A
careful preparation of the plan will do much to prevent this, but it is
not enough, for the words and phrases are not to be prepared. With
every precaution, the best of speakers may fail at this point, and the
more brilliant the introduction the more marked will the failure be.
When this danger is safely passed, he is in the open sea, and the
triumphs of eloquence are before him.
There is great pleasure in speaking well. An assembly hanging on
the words, and thinking the thoughts of a single man, gives to him
the most subtile kind of flattery, and he needs to beware how he
yields to its influence, or his fall will be speedy and disastrous. The
triumphs of oratory are very fascinating. The ability to sway our
fellow men at will—to bind them with the strong chain of our
thought, and make them willing captives—produces a delirious and
intoxicating sense of power. But this is very transient, and unless
taken advantage of at the moment, to work some enduring result, it
fades, like the beautiful cloud-work of morning, before the rising
sun. Even during the continuance of a sermon it is hard to maintain
the influence of a happy moment. Persons not unfrequently give
utterance to some great and noble thought, that echoes in the
hearts of the audience, and the nameless thrill of eloquence is felt,
but some irrelevant phrase, or commonplace sentiment dissolves all
the charm. To avoid this, the whole discourse must be of a piece,
and rise in power until the object is accomplished.
Diffuseness is often supposed to be an essential quality of
extemporaneous speech. It is not such, though many speakers do
fall into it. The reason of this fault is that they are not content to
place the subject in a strong light by one forcible and luminous
expression, but say nearly what they mean, and continue their
efforts until they are satisfied. They furnish no clear view of
anything, but give a sort of twilight intimation of their idea. But
serious as this fault is, it may easily be overcome. Exquisite finish,
and elaborate arrangement are not to be expected in off-hand
speech, but we may give force and true shading to every idea just as
well as in writing.
To express exactly what we mean at the first effort, is one of the
greatest beauties of a spoken style. The hearer is filled with grateful
surprise when some new and living idea is placed before him,
clothed in a single word or sentence. But a diffuse speaker gives so
many premonitions of his thought, that the audience comprehend it
before he is half through the discussion, and are forced to await his
ending, in listless weariness. He never receives credit for an original
idea, because his advances toward it call up the same thought in the
mind of his hearers, and when formally presented it has lost all
novelty, and seems to be trite.
The same study that will impart the power of condensation in writing
will do it in speech, for it can only be obtained in either by earnest,
persevering effort. Frequently forecast what to say, and drive it into
the smallest possible number of vivid, expressive words; then,
without memorizing the language, reproduce the same thought
briefly as possible in the hurry of speech. It may be less compact
than the studied production, but if so, let the effort be repeated with
the knowledge of where the defect is, and this continued until it can
be cast into bold, well-defined outlines at a single impulse. This
process, often repeated, will give the ability to condense, but in
order to exercise it successfully another quality is needed. We must
be able to resist the seduction of fine language. No sentence should
be introduced because it glitters or sparkles, for a single
unnecessary word that requires others to explain its use, may
damage a whole sermon. Let the best words be chosen with
reference to beauty and impressiveness as well as strict
appropriateness, but the latter must never be sacrificed. The danger
of showy language in speech is greater than in a written
composition, for if the writer be drawn too far away, he can go back
and begin again, while the speaker has only one trial. If beauties lie
in his way all the better, but he must never leave his path to search
for them.
Bishop Simpson’s lecture on “The Future of our Country,” was a
model of compactness. Every gaudy ornament was discarded, and
short, simple sentences conveyed ideas that would have furnished a
florid speaker with inexhaustible material. The whole discourse was
radiant with true beauty—the beauty of thought shining through the
drapery of words, and each idea, unweakened by any pause of
expectation, struck the mind as new truth, or the echo of what was
felt, but never so well expressed before.
We have seen directions for “expanding thought,” and have heard
young speakers admire the ease and skill with which it was done.
But thoughts are not like medicines which require dilution in order to
be more certain in their effects, and more readily taken. It is far
better to give the essence of an idea, and go on to something else.
If thoughts are too few, it is more profitable to dig and delve for
others, than to attenuate and stretch what we have. We need deep,
burning, throbbing conceptions that will live without artificial aid.
A similar error exists in regard to the kind of language best adapted
to oratory. High-sounding epithets and latinized words are
sometimes supposed to be the proper dress of eloquence. These
might give an impression of our learning or wisdom to an ignorant
audience, but could not strike the chords of living sympathy that link
all hearts together. Language is only available as a medium, so far as
hearer and speaker understand it in common. If we use a term the
congregation have seldom heard, even if they can arrive at its
meaning, it will lose all its force whilst they are striving to
understand it. But one of the homely Saxon words that dwell on the
lips of the people, will unlade its meaning in the heart as soon as its
sound strikes the ear. For while uncommon words erect a barrier
around thought, familiar ones are perhaps not noticed at all, leaving
the feeling to strike directly to its mark.
The only reason why Saxon derivatives are so powerful, is because
they are usually the words of every-day life. But the test of
usefulness is not in etymology. If terms of Latin or French origin
have passed into the life of the people, they will serve the highest
purpose of the orator. Of coarse, all debased and slang words should
be rejected. We do not plead for “the familiarity that breeds
contempt.” The two great requisites in the use of words are, that
they should exactly express our idea, and be familiar to the
audience. Melody and association should not be despised, but they
are secondary.
Every sermon should have strong points upon which especial
reliance is placed. A general has his choice battalions reserved to
pierce the enemy’s line at the decisive moment, and win the battle.
It is important to know how to place these reserved thoughts, that
all their weight may be felt.
A crisis occurs in nearly every sermon—a moment when a strong
argument or a fervent appeal will produce the result intended, or
when failure becomes inevitable—just as a vigorous charge, or the
arrival of reinforcements, will turn the scale of battle, when the
combatants grow weary and dispirited. The speaker, knowing what
his object is, should so dispose his forces as to drive steadily toward
it, and when within reach, put forth all his power in one mighty
effort, achieving the result for which the whole speech was intended.
If neglected, such chances seldom return, and an hour’s talk may fail
to accomplish as much as one good burning sentence thrown in at
the right time. This should be foreseen, and the idea, which we
know to be the key of our discourse, carefully prepared—in thought,
not word.
Quotations, either in prose or poetry, may be often used to good
advantage, but should be short, appropriate and secondary. The
grand effect of an extempore discourse must not depend on a
borrowed passage, or its character will be changed, and its
originality lost.
We have all along taken it for granted that deep thought underlies
the whole discourse. Without this, a sermon or any serious address
deserves no success. Under some circumstances nothing is expected
but sound to tickle the ear. This is play, while the eloquence of the
pulpit is solemn work. The very fact that the speaker has a solid and
worthy foundation, gives him confidence. He knows that if his words
are not ringing music, he will still have a claim on the attention of his
auditors.
It is not necessary that our thoughts should extend far beyond the
depths of the common mind, for the most weighty truths lie nearest
to the surface, and within the reach of all. But most men do not
dwell long enough on one subject to understand even its obvious
features, and when these are fully mastered and presented in
striking form, it is like a new revelation. A good illustration of this is
found in the sublimity that Kitto imparts to the journeyings of the
Israelites. Very few new facts are stated, but all are so arranged and
vivified by a thoughtful mind, that the subject grows into new
meaning. Let the preacher, by speaking extempore, save his time for
investigation and study, and his sermons will soon have a charm
beyond any jingling combination of words.
Is the minister, as he stands before a congregation with their eyes
fixed upon him, to expect them to be overwhelmed by his
eloquence? Such a result is possible, but is seldom attained,
especially when sought for. If persons attempt what is beyond their
power, the only result will be to render themselves ridiculous. But
good sense and solid usefulness are within the reach of all. Any man
who studies a subject till he knows more about it than others do,
can interest them in a fireside explanation, if they care for the
matter at all. He communicates his facts in a plain style and they
understand him. Many persons will sit delighted till midnight to hear
a man converse, but will go to sleep if he address them half an hour
in public. In the first case he talks, and is simple and unaffected; in
the other he speaks, and uses a style stiffened up for the occasion.
When Henry Clay was asked how he became so eloquent, he said he
knew nothing about it; when he commenced an address he had only
the desire to speak what he had prepared (not committed), and
adhered to this until he was enwrapped in his subject and carried
away, he knew not how. This is a characteristic of the modern, as
opposed to the ancient, school of eloquence. The latter memorized,
while our greatest speakers only arrange, and speak in a plain,
business style, until hurried by the passion of the moment into
bolder flights. If this does not happen, they still give a good and
instructive speech.
These few considerations may be of use when the speaker stands in
the pulpit, but he must rely on his own tact for the management of
details. Closely observing the condition of the audience, taking
advantage of every favoring circumstance, he moves steadily
towards 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 gazes into the intent faces around, new ideas
arise, and, if fitting, are woven into what was previously prepared,
often with thrilling effect. Each emotion kindled by sympathy will
embody itself in words that touch the heart as nothing prepared
could do, and each moment his own conviction sinks deeper in the
hearts of his hearers.
There are three principal ways of concluding a sermon. The first,
and most graceful, is to condense a clear view of the whole
argument, and leave the audience with the comprehensive
impression thus made. This is admirably adapted to discourses the
principal object of which is to convince the understanding. To throw
the whole sweep of the argument, every point of which has been
enforced, into a few telling, easily remembered sentences, will go far
to make the impression permanent.
The old plan of closing with an exhortation, is perhaps the most
generally beneficial. An application is the same thing in substance,
only a little less pungent and personal. In it the whole sermon is
made to bear on the duty of the moment. It should be closely
connected with what went before; for a general exhortation, fitting
the end of every sermon, cannot well apply to any. All the sermon
should be gathered up, as it were, and hurled as a solid mass into
the hearts and consciences of those whom we wish to affect, thus
making it a real “thrust,” of which the exhortation is the barbed
point. It should be short, and no new matter introduced at the time
the audience are expecting the end.
The third method is to break off when the last item is finished. If the
lines of the argument are few and simple, or so strong that they
cannot fail to be remembered, there is no need to recapitulate them.
And if the exhortation has kept pace with the progress of the
sermon, there is no place for it at the close. If both these coincide, a
formal conclusion would be a superfluity. It is only necessary to
finish the development of the plan, care being taken that the last
idea discussed shall be one of dignity and importance. This is simply
stopping when done, and is certainly an easy method of closing,
though, in practice, too often neglected.
 CHAPTER V.
AFTER CONSIDERATIONS—SUCCESS—REST—
IMPROVEMENT.

When we have concluded a fervent discourse, especially if

successful, there comes a feeling of inexpressible relief. For the
burden of a speech accumulates on the mind, from the time the
subject is chosen, until it grows almost intolerable. When we begin
to speak all our powers are called into play, and exerted to the limit
of their capacity. The excitement of the conflict hurries us on, and
although we may not realize the gigantic exertions we put forth, yet
when we pause, with the victory won, the sense of relief and
security is exceedingly delightful. Yet we must not indulge too deeply
in the self-gratulation so natural at such a moment. If we have
conquered, it has been in God’s name, not our own, and the first
thing to be done is to offer him thanks for our preservation. This is
but the complement of the prayers made at the beginning of the
service, for if we ask help with fear and trembling, before the real
perils of speech begin, it would be very wrong, in the hour of
triumph, to cease to remember the arm upon which we leaned. But
by pouring out our thankfulness to God, we are at the same time
preserved from pride and undue exaltation, and encouraged to
depend upon Him more fully the next time we speak.
If the effort has been an earnest one, both mind and body need
rest. There are speakers who profess to feel no fatigue after an
hour’s labor, but these seldom occupy a place in the first class. If the
soul has really been engaged, and all the powers of mind and body
bent to the accomplishment of a great object, relaxation must
follow, and often a sense of utter prostration. It is well, if possible,
to abandon ones-self to the luxury of rest—that utter repose so
sweet after severe labor. Even social intercourse should be avoided.
A short sleep, even if only for a few minutes, will afford great relief,
and it is much to be regretted that circumstances so often interfere
with the enjoyment of such a luxury. After the morning service,
especially if the minister has to preach again in the evening, all
labor, even in the Sabbath-school, should be avoided, although,
before preaching, such toil will only form a grateful introduction to
the duties of the day. No practice is more pernicious than that of
inviting the minister to meet company, at dinner-parties or
elsewhere, immediately after service. This is objectionable for two
reasons; the conversation at such parties seldom accords with the
sanctity of the Sabbath, and if unexceptionable in this respect, a
continued tax is made upon the already exhausted brain—a tax
greater during such a state of relaxation and languor, than ten-fold
the labor would be at another period. Let the preacher, when he
can, retire to the privacy of his own home, and there enjoy the
freedom of untrammelled rest.
It is well to ponder closely the lessons derived from each new
experience in speaking. The minister can never exactly measure his
own success, and may often lament as a failure that effort which has
accomplished great good. He has in his mind an ideal of excellence
by which he estimates his sermons. If this be placed very low, he
may succeed in coming up to it, or even pass beyond it, without
accomplishing anything worthy of praise. But in such a case he is apt
to be well satisfied with the result. And often the sermons with
which we are least pleased, are really the best. For in the mightiest
efforts of mind the standard is placed very high—sometimes beyond
the limit of possible attainment, and the speaker works with his eye
fixed upon the summit, and often, after all his exertions, sees it
shining above him still, and closes with the conviction that his ideas
are but half expressed. He feels mortified that there should be such
difference between conception and execution. But his hearers, who
have been led over untrodden fields of thought, know nothing of the
heights still above the orator’s head, and are filled with enthusiasm,
or have received new impulses to good. This is the reason why we
are least able to judge of the success of sermons that have been
long meditated, and are thoroughly prepared. The subject expands
as we study it, and its outlines become grander and vaster, until they
pass beyond our power of representation. And each separate
thought that is mastered also becomes familiar, and is not valued at
its full worth by the speaker. If he had begun to speak without
thought, intending to give only the easy and common views of his
subject, all would have been fresh to him, and if a striking idea
presented itself, its novelty would have enhanced its appreciation.
This is no reason against diligent preparation, but rather a strong
argument in favor of it. It should only stimulate us to improve our
powers of expression as well as of conception.
But with all these sources of uncertainty in our judgment of our own
productions, we should not be indifferent to our perceptions of
success or failure. In the greater number of instances will be correct,
and we can very frequently discover the cause of either, and use this
knowledge to future profit.
Even if we imagine our failure to be extreme, we have no need to
feel unduly discouraged. God can, and does, often work with the
feeblest instruments, and the sermon we despise may accomplish its
purpose. The writer preached one evening when very weary, and
almost unprepared. From first to last a painful effort was required to
find anything to say, and to prevent utter failure the intended plan
had to be abandoned, and new, detached thoughts thrown in as
they could be found. And yet that discourse, which was scarcely
worthy of the name, elicited warmer approval, and apparently
accomplished more good, than any one from the same preacher
ever given at that point. But such instances should never lead us to
neglect all the preparation in our power, for usually when failure
springs from a real defect, the verdict of the people will coincide
with our own.
However we may judge of our success it is not wise to ask any of
our hearers for their opinion. We may observe any indications of the
effect produced, and, if the criticisms of others are offered
spontaneously, it is not necessary to repulse them, especially if they
are marked by a spirit of candor and good will; but all seeking for
commendation is debasing. It is sweet to hear our sermons praised,
and most of men can endure an amount of flattery addressed to
themselves, that would be disgusting if applied to others; but if we
indulge this disposition it will become ungovernable, and expose us
to well-deserved ridicule. It is pitiable to see a man who is mighty in
word and thought, who wields the vast powers of eloquence,
stooping to beg crusts of indiscriminate praise from his hearers.
Nothing contributes more to destroy our influence, and make our
audience believe that we are merely actors, unaffected by the
sublime truths we declare.
It is well to think over our sermons after they have been preached,
and if any defect appear, amend it in the plan, and add all the new
ideas that may have been suggested during speech. This prepares
us to preach still better when we have occasion to use the same
plan a second time.
Some ministers are accustomed to write their sermons after delivery.
This may do well, especially when the theme is of great importance,
but in general, it is questionable whether the advantage is great
enough to warrant the expenditure of so much time.
But to review and correct a verbatim report of our sermons would be
far more profitable. If some short-hand writer—a member of our
family, or any other who is willing to take so much trouble—will
preserve our words for us, a revisal of them on Monday would be of
immense benefit. The offensiveness of pet phrases, which we might
otherwise be unconscious of for years, would be detected at once.
Faults of expression, and especially the profuseness of words, in
which extempore speakers are apt to indulge, would be forced upon
our notice; and if any really valuable ideas occurred, they could be
preserved. There would be little use in writing the sermon over in
full, for we would commonly find that it might be reduced to one-
third or one-fourth its bulk without material injury. The habitual
condensation of our sermons after delivery, would teach us to
express our thoughts compactly even in speech.
The only difficulty in applying this capital means of improvement, is
the small number of persons who can write short-hand with
sufficient rapidity—a difficulty that may be less in the future than it
has been in the past, and can now be obviated by the minister’s wife
or daughters, who may have sufficient perseverance and devotion to
master the laborious, but precious art for his sake.
 PART III.
MISCELLANEOUS ADDRESSES.
 CHAPTER I.
INSTRUCTIVE ADDRESS.

We will give only a brief consideration to the various fields of oratory

outside the pulpit, because the greater number of principles already
laid down can be applied, with slight modifications, to any kind of
speech. The different varieties of secular address may be divided as
follows:
I. Instructive Oratory.
II. Legal Oratory.
III. Deliberative Oratory.
IV. Popular Oratory.
V. Controversial Oratory.

We apply the first term to all oral teaching, more connected than
question and answer, and to all lectures that have instruction for
their primary object. This species of discourse differs from the
sermon in the absence of persuasion, rather than in its positive
character. The lecturer should thoroughly understand the topic he
attempts to unfold, and place it in the clearest possible light. Much
illustration is needed, for the subject is usually a novel one to the
greater portion of the audience, and can be best explained by
comparison with familiar objects. It should have its strong central
points, which can be easily remembered, and around which the
minor parts of the discourse may be grouped, for if the whole
consist of isolated facts poured forth without generalization or
arrangement, no distinct impression will be left.
Appeals to passion and emotion are less necessary in lectures than
in most other kinds of speech. Yet so closely are heart and intellect
connected, that we can arouse attention, and secure a more durable
result, if the facts we narrate are linked with the experiences and
emotions of life.
The practice of writing is even more prevalent when applied to
lectures than to sermons, and the reasons urged in its favor have
more plausibility. As the lecturer does not aim to move his hearers to
immediate action, the advantages of direct address are less
required. Still he wishes to interest them, and it may be questioned
whether this can, in any case, be so well accomplished from
manuscript. But it is urged that in a scientific lecture there is often
too great a number of detached facts to be easily remembered. This
may be true, but it suggests another important question: if they
cannot be recalled by the speaker who has reviewed them again and
again for days together, how can it be expected that those who only
hear them read over once, will retain any distinct impression? A
clearer generalization of the whole discourse, and a proper
arrangement of each fact under the principle which it illustrates,
would go far to obviate both difficulties. Yet, in the use of statistics
or other items, about which the speaker wishes to be precise,
though he may only care to give the audience a general conception
of them, notes will be a great relief to the memory, and the
statement of principles deduced can be still made in direct address.
After a man has become so famous that each word he utters will be
listened to with profound attention, because it comes from him, he
may write safely. This is especially the case with those who have
become authorities in their own departments of knowledge. What
they say is received rather as a conclusion to argument, than as an
assertion to be weighed, and the calm, deliberate reading of such
final statements has all needed impressiveness. But if we have not
attained this position, we had better employ every legitimate means
to interest our audiences.
It is often claimed by the advocates of reading, that a literary lecture
must be written to secure the polish and smoothness needful in the
treatment of such themes. It will not do, say they, to give, in our
words and manner, an illustration of the absence of the very
qualities we praise. But surely men can speak on a subject they
understand in good grammar and fitting language, without having
first placed each word on paper! And if they attempt much beyond
this they lead the mind of the hearer from the subject to a
consideration of the skill of the lecturer. We are ready to grant that
compositions should be read, not spoken, when ever they cease to
instruct about something else, and become an exhibition in
themselves. A poet is right in reading his poem; and even in prose, if
we wish to call attention to our melodious words, and our skill in
literary composition, instead of the subject we have nominally taken,
it will be well to write. But the resulting composition will not be a
lecture.
The field for instructive lectures is constantly enlarging. In former
times they were monopolized by university professors, and very few
persons sought to teach the people. But this has changed. There are
now many more schools where courses of lectures are given on
various topics, and every town of any pretension has its annual
lecture course. Even these are not sufficient to meet the increasing
demand, and, as every community cannot pay Beecher or Gough
from one to five hundred dollars for an evening’s entertainment,
there is abundant scope for humbler talent. Strolling lecturers,
without character or knowledge, reap a rich harvest from the
credulity of the people. Even the noble science of phrenology is
often disgraced by quacks, who perambulate the country and
pretend to explain its mysteries—sometimes telling character and
fortunes at the same time. So far has this prostitution of talent and
opportunity gone, that the village lecturer is often placed in a
category with circus clowns and negro minstrels. But this should not
be, and no class could do more to prevent it than the clergy. If they
would each prepare a lecture or two upon some important subject
they have mastered, they could extend their usefulness, and teach
others besides their own flocks.
Lecturers are becoming more numerous and popular. New sciences
and arts are continually springing into being, and there is no way
that a knowledge of them can be so readily diffused among the
masses of the people, as by public addresses upon them. Even the
oldest of the sciences—Astronomy—has been brought to the
knowledge of thousands who otherwise would have remained in
ignorance of its mysteries. It was thus that the lamented General O.
M. Mitchel succeeded in awakening public interest, and in securing
funds for the erection of his observatory at Cincinnati.
Benefit lectures are very common. In these the services of the
lecturer are given gratis, or for a nominal compensation, and
persons are induced to purchase tickets that some good cause may
be benefited by the proceeds. This is the most pleasant of
compromises, and is surely better than fairs, gift drawings, etc.,
although when the patronage of the public is thus secured for a
lecture that has no real merit, the benefit is more questionable.
The most important point in a lecture is that the subject be
thoroughly understood, and so arranged that there may be no
difficulty in grasping the whole thought. Vivacity and life will prevent
the audience from growing weary; wit, if it be true and delicate, will
add to the interest, and has a far larger legitimate sphere than in a
sermon. Ornaments, too, may abound, provided they do not call
attention away from the subject, or weaken the force of expression.
The plan of a lecture may be constructed in a manner similar to that
of a sermon, as the end in view is not very different. If this be well
arranged, and all the principles, facts and illustrations be properly
placed, no need of writing will be felt.
 CHAPTER II.
MISCELLANEOUS ADDRESS—LEGAL—
DELIBERATE—POPULAR—CONTROVERSIAL.

The speech adapted to the bench and bar presents some peculiar
features. The lawyer deals with facts and living issues. He works for
immediate results, and therefore uses the means best adapted to
secure them. The use of manuscript, which increases in proportion
as we remove from the sphere of passion, finds no place when life
and property are at stake. The lawyer who would read his appeal to
the jury in an exciting case, would have few others to make. At the
bar the penalty for inefficiency is so rapid and certain, that every
nerve is strained to avoid it. To argue with a lawyer against the use
of written discourses, would be like proving the advantage of
commerce to an Englishman. His danger lies in the opposite
direction—that of caring too little for polish, and of making the
verdict of the jury his only aim.
A lawyer should never contend for what he believes to be wrong. Yet
the common estimate of the morality of attorneys is not based on
fact. They may have greater temptations than some others, and
many of them may fall, but another reason than this accounts for
the grave imputations cast on them. In every suit, at least one party
must be disappointed, and it is natural that, in his bitterness, he
should throw discredit on all the agencies by which his hopes were
destroyed. But this is most frequently groundless. The lawyer may
be counsel for a man whom he knows to be in the wrong, but he
ought never to take his stand on a false position. He may show any
weakness in his adversary’s case, and see that all the provisions of
the law are faithfully complied with, but must not endeavor to distort
the truth. An adherence to this determination will soon give his
words a power and influence that will more than counterbalance all
disadvantages. Let him seek for the strong points in his own case,
and then throw them into the simplest and boldest shape, not
forgetting the importance of appealing to the heart, as well as head,
of judge and jury.
The judge differs from the advocate in having both sides of the case
to present, and in seeking truth rather than victory. As he stands
upon the law, and unfolds its dictates, which are obeyed as soon as
known, he has no need to appeal to passion, and can give his words
with all calmness and certainty.
Under the most absolute monarchy there are always some things
that men are left to settle according to their own pleasure, and when
a number of persons have equal interest and authority this can only
be done by discussion. In our own land the people bear rule, and
the field of deliberation is almost infinitely widened. City councils,
State and national legislatures, the governing societies of churches,
parties, companies, and all organizations, have more or less of
power to be exercised. If this were vested in a single will, silent
pondering would determine each question, but in assemblies these
must be decided by discussion, argument and vote.[1]

1. See rules for these in Appendix.

There is one general peculiarity that marks the speeches addressed
to such a body; their main object is to give information. All are about
to act, and are supposed to be diligently looking for the best course
to be taken. This secures an interest in everything that really throws
new light on the subject, while it often renders such an assemblage
intolerant of mere declamation. In representative bodies there is also
constant reference to the opinions and wishes of those for whom
they act.
Such speeches are frequently intended to be read beyond the
bounds of the audience where they are delivered, and for this
reason are often elaborately prepared, and read at first. If they do
truly give information, either in reference to principles or facts, they
suffer from this less than any other class of addresses. They may be
dry and unattractive in form, but if each concerned, feels that he is
obtaining new facts for guidance, he will listen with patience. Yet,
even then, a greater impression would be produced if the same
accuracy and sureness of statement were embodied in spoken
words. Let there first, be broad, statesmanlike views, a clear
comprehension of the effects of measures, and perfect confidence in
what we advocate, and then all the graces of speech may be added
with the certainty that their effect will be that always produced by
true eloquence.
A popular address differs from a lecture in having an element of
persuasion in it. In fact, this is its principal characteristic. When we
desire to incline the hearts of the people to some favorite cause, we
assemble them together, and labor by all the arguments we can
command, to induce them to adopt our views and enter on the
course we recommend. Energy and earnestness are the qualities
most uniformly successful. The people care little for the subtile
niceties of speech, but they require that the man who addresses
them should believe what he says, and feel the power of his own
reasoning. A deep, strong, unfaltering conviction is always an
element of strength.
Many speakers think it an advantage to flatter the prejudices of the
people, but they are mistaken. Temporary applause may be won, but
second thoughts are apt to detect the lurking insincerity, even if they
do not overthrow the prejudice itself If the speaker be really under
the influence of the same misconception as the audience, this is a
different matter, for hearty devotion, even to the wrong, is
contagious. But calm reasoning and truth are always best. These
gave Abraham Lincoln the superiority over Stephen A. Douglas,
making him more effective with the people than the latter was, not
withstanding his fervid eloquence. The one appealed to the reason
of the people, the other to passion.
Humor has a place in the popular address not second to any other
quality. A telling anecdote, or a good illustration (the homelier the
better, if it be not coarse), will arrest attention and dwell longer on
the memory, than the strongest argument.
Controversial oratory partakes of the nature of a battle, but should
be something more than strife for victory. There is little danger of
languid attention in this species of address, for opposition arouses
both speaker and hearer.
The golden rule in all controversies, is to be certain of a solid basis
of fact, and follow the guidance of true principles. Then we deserve
success. But fair means only should be employed. It is so hard to
see an adversary triumph even, when convinced of the correctness
of his position, that we can scarcely forbear employing every artifice
to prevent such a result. But we should never misrepresent our
opponent. Even if he has been unfortunate in his explanations, and
leaves the way open for a natural misconception, we should use our
best efforts to understand what he really means, and give him the
credit of that. We must also allow his reasoning its due force. No just
argument ought ever to be weakened. Let us bring forward our
views, and, if possible, show that they are truer and more firmly
based than his. And if we see that this cannot be done, there is only
one manly course left—to surrender at discretion. If we cannot
maintain our views by clear proof, we should abandon them, and
seek others that need no questionable support.
 PART IV.
EMINENT EXTEMPORE SPEAKERS.

AUGUSTINE—LUTHER—CHATHAM—PITT—BURKE—MIRABEAU—
PATRICK HENRY—WHITEFIELD—WESLEY—SIDNEY SMITH—F. W.
ROBERTSON—CLAY—BASCOM—SUMMERFIELD—SPURGEON—H. W.
BEECHER—BINGHAM—GLADSTONE—SIMPSON—WENDELL PHILLIPS
—J. P. DURBIN.
 EMINENT SPEAKERS.

USE OF EXAMPLES.

Notwithstanding the popularity of unwritten speech, and the

innumerable arguments in its favor, there is an impression in some
quarters that the very highest excellence cannot be attained without
the previous use of the pen. It may be shown that it is more natural
to find the words in which our thoughts are clothed at the moment
of expression; that a stronger and better frame-work of thought can
be constructed, if the mind, in preparing for speech, is occupied with
that alone; that the speaker and hearer may thus be brought into
closer union; that this, in short, is the order of nature, which leaves
the solid frame-work of the tree standing through many winters, but
each spring bestows its graceful robe of leaves upon that which was
prepared to receive it. But this is not enough to produce lasting
conviction. It is still maintained, almost with obstinacy, that in the
highest fields of oratory, words must be previously chosen, fitted
together, and polished.
This nearly every speech-writer proves from his own experience. The
efforts that have afforded him most satisfaction were those in which
nothing had been left to the chance of the moment. But it is easy to
see how even experience may mislead in this particular. We can
judge the comparative merits of another in his different modes of
address with some approach to accuracy, for our mental state—that
of listeners—continues the same under them all. But it is different
when we judge ourselves. When we extemporize, our best
expressions fade from the mind after they have been given forth,
and can only be recalled by a strong effort. On the other hand, when
we have wrought our language slowly, and lingered over each
sentence, we see all the beauty it contains, and begin to admire our
own production. If we see anything faulty, instead of lamenting it, as
we would an unfortunate, spoken sentence, we change it, and take
credit for the keenness of our critical taste. Is it wonderful that when
we come before an audience with an address made as nearly perfect
as we can construct it in every line, and the whole clearly written, or
firmly engraved on the memory, and then repeat it, with a full
appreciation of each beauty as we pass along, that we consider it to
be of far higher merit than the impassioned torrent poured forth on
another occasion, when we scarcely knew that we were using words
at all? If the people do not seem to appreciate it, their want of taste
and culture affords a ready excuse for them, even if the speaker is
not too much occupied with his own eloquence to notice them at all.
He is always ready, too, with the examples of Massillon and Bossuet,
or of Chalmers, to prove that it was thus the most powerful orators
spoke.
We do not deny that great effects may be produced, under certain
circumstances, by committed words. The fact that many actors have
won great fame by repeating the words of others, proves how much
may be done in this direction. It is but reasonable, that if some
gifted minds can thrill an audience to tears, and rouse every feeling
to its highest bent by merely copying others, that those who, in
addition to this ability, possess the power of framing their own
thoughts in suitable words, may accomplish as much. John B. Gough
is an instance of the power that may be wielded in this manner. But
such men cannot occupy the highest position in the temple of fame.
They are but actors. When they speak they will be listened to with
eagerness and pleasure, as great performers always are, but it will
be as performers rather than as authorities. They have placed
themselves on a level with those who deal in unreal things, and
there they must be content to remain. Doubtless it is more noble to
speak the sentiments and feelings that we once possessed, in the
language adapted to that time, than to deal in those belonging to
another person, but the resemblance between the two is very close,
and the people feel it so acutely that they make no discrimination.
But we maintain that even in momentary effect—the quality which is
supposed to belong peculiarly to the powerful declamation of
prepared language—extempore speakers have passed beyond all
others; while in power of thought and lasting influence, there can be
no comparison. There is no single quality of speech that cannot be
reached as well without writing as with it, while perpetual readiness,
vast and profound knowledge (which writing extensively leaves no
time to acquire), and weight and authority with the people, belong
almost exclusively to the extemporizer.
These assertions may seem bold to many, but we are prepared to
substantiate them. In the preceding pages we have aimed to show
how this species of address may be acquired, and improved to an
almost unlimited degree. The ideal thus sketched is not an
impossible or imaginary one. It has often been attained, and for the
encouragement of those who may be disposed to throw away their
manuscripts, and trust to the method of nature, the following
examples are selected. These are chosen because of their eminence,
and also because of the wide variety of qualities displayed in their
eloquence. Many more might be given, but these are sufficient for
our purpose, which is to show that in every department of speech
the highest eloquence that ever flowed from the lips of men has
clothed itself in unpremeditated words.
In these sketches we, of course, make no pretension to originality,
but have compiled what was adapted to our purpose from every
available source. And as the matter so obtained has been frequently
abridged, and two or three different accounts woven together, it has
sometimes been impossible to give full credit. We are under especial
obligation to the “New American Cyclopedia,” Mosheim’s Church
History, Stevens’s History of Methodism, Harsha’s “Orators and
Statesmen,” “Kidder’s Homiletics,” with the current biographies of the
speakers treated of.
Much of the oratory of antiquity was recited. This has been used as
an argument to prove the comparative inferiority of that speech
which is the offspring of the moment, forgetting the great difference
between ancient and modern life—a difference arising from the
greater diversity of the latter, and the nobler aims to which it gives
birth. The typical Grecian oration is as much a work of art as a
statue. It was made to be admired, and if, by the beauty of its
arrangement, the melody of its language, and the elegance of its
delivery, this object was achieved, the orator was satisfied. It was
so, to a less degree, in the classic age of Rome. The form of the
oration was of greater importance than its matter, and it was judged
that this would be best perfected by the use of the pen, and of the
memory. Yet the practice of antiquity on this point was far from
uniform. Some of the noblest orators spoke extempore, and have
less fame than those who adopted the opposite plan, only because
at that time the art of reporting was too imperfect to preserve their
eloquence. The effect they produced remains, and from it we obtain
a faint view of their greatness. Pericles spoke without previous
writing, and the sway his speech established over his countrymen
was more undisputed than that of Demosthenes. The latter had an
assemblage of talents that, with his tireless industry, would have
made him eminent in any mode of address that he might have
adopted; but even he did not recite exclusively.
The great rival of Cicero, Hortensius, whose wonderful power excited
the emulation of the former, spoke from the impulse of the moment,
as did many of the more eminent of the Roman orators. Cicero was
a man of tireless energy. He applied himself to the study and
practice of eloquence with a singleness of aim, and a concentration
of purpose that may well command our admiration. He accumulated
vast stores of knowledge, perfected his logic, and improved his voice
until it became music, and brought all the resources of a mighty
mind to bear on oratory. It is not wonderful that he was listened to
with profound attention, while he recited what he had previously
composed. But some of his most brilliant passages were
extemporaneous. The outburst that overwhelmed Catiline when he
unexpectedly appeared in the senate, was coined, at white heat, by
the passion of the moment.
The reason why so many of the ancients committed their speeches,
was because they could not be preserved otherwise, unless the
orator could remember and write down what he had said. Every
unwritten speech perished, and left nothing but a dim memory of
the results it had produced. This is the reason why the extempore
speakers of the ancient world are less known than the reciters. But
the art of short-hand has effected a revolution in this particular, and
the most impassioned speeches are now photographed for the
admiration of future generations. The man who wishes his speech
preserved is no longer compelled to write it.

EARLY PREACHING IN THE CHURCH.

We may be sure that the preaching of Christ and the Apostles was
without notes. It seems scarcely less than profanation to picture
even the latter as reading from a previously prepared manuscript,
after they had been promised the help of the Spirit in the hour when
help was needed; and it is inconceivable that the Saviour should
have taken any other mode of imparting His wisdom to men, than
that of direct address. Paul deprecated the eloquence of mere
words, although the sketch of his sermon on Mars’ Hill, with other
addresses, shows that he did not neglect the eloquence of thought,
and the strength of orderly, logical arrangement. We have no direct
evidence of the manner of preaching in the first century, but from all
intimations we are led to conclude that sermons were composed
without the use of the pen, and consisted of easy, familiar scripture
expositions and deductions of moral lessons. Origen, the most
celebrated divine of the third century, preached without manuscript,
and Eusebius says of him:
“Then, as was to be expected, our religion spreading more and more, and our
brethren beginning to converse more freely with all, Origen, who they say was
now more than sixty years of age, and who, from long practice, had acquired
great facility in discoursing, permitted his discourses to be taken down by ready
writers, a thing which he had never allowed before.”
This shows not only that he had been accustomed to preach
extempore, but that he would not permit the sketches of his
sermons which could be made by the imperfect reporting of that
day, to be published until late in life. This would be very natural,
when unstudied explanation was the main object of the address, but
very unnatural if the sermon had been written according to the rules
of rhetorical composition. In the sermons of Chrysostom there are
many passages which could not, from their nature, have been
precomposed, and these are among the most brilliant of all. But
Augustine, who flourished in the fourth century, affords us a still
more conclusive proof of the power of the natural mode of address.

AUGUSTINE.

The father of this great man was a pagan, but his mother was a
Christian. She was a most remarkable woman, and from her he
doubtless inherited some of the strongest elements of his character.
Her prayers for his conversion were almost continual, but for many
years produced no apparent result. He plunged into many excesses,
and lived a most irregular life, but from this he was aroused by the
death of his father, and by the study of philosophy. For a time the
latter seemed to satisfy his ardent mind, but soon he saw its
insufficiency, became an earnest searcher for truth, and explored the
writings of the sages of antiquity without being able to find anything
on which he could rest. The problems of life pressed upon him with
a terrible weight, and he was too profound a thinker to be satisfied
with any superficial explanation. The doctrine of the ancient Persians
—that of the two antagonistic principles of good and evil in the
world—for a while charmed his imagination, but its influence over
him soon passed away. During all this time he was rising in fame as
a teacher of rhetoric and eloquence, and had established a school in
Rome which became widely celebrated.
His reputation as a teacher caused him to be summoned to Milan,
where the Emperor then was. The great preacher, Ambrose, then in
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