Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1914-09-13

fails to bring to my lips, and to my spirit
as well.
l do not know that it would be good
thing for any public speaker ever to ap-
proach the emergent hour with entire as
surance and utterly calloused nerves. Such
a condition might well bespeak an indiffer-
ence to the work in hand which would re-
suit either in a purely mechanical delivery,
or one so careless as to destroy the effect of
the lecturers most valuable asset,-a sym
pathetic personality. | recall far back in
my college days, in the carly sos of the
last century, meeting at one of my fraternity
conventions that inspiring publicist, the
late Senator FRYE of Maine. In the course
of pleasant chat, having myself to appear
before the convention with committee re-
port the following morning. and feeling
trifle uncertain as to how | was going to
1come through" asked the Senator if he
was ever victim to nervousness when max
ing a public address, and his answer was
very suggestive.
ALWAYS, my lad" said he, ALWAYS! !
have been making public speeches off and
on now for twenty-five or thirty years, and
even today when l rise up to speak IN the
United States Senate, or on the stump, my
knees shake little under me. And I'm
glad they do, Son." he went on significantly;
afor if they didn't, should begin to feel
that the days of my usefulness were over,
for it would mean that really didn't care
whether l got through safely or not"
60 it was that up to a certain point l
- sympathized with my friend the distin-
guished after-dinner speaker when he in
timated that the lecture platform was no
bed of roses. For one of his nervous organi-
cation and temperament it would be 1mpos-
sible. 1t would make nervous wreck OF
him in short while, and in the end would
shorten his life, even as it has shortened the
span of many another robust spirit; such
as the late Alfred Tennyson Dickens, for
instance, who in very truth succumbed to
the exactious of travel and of a lovely hos
pitality that he knew not how to resist.
But for myself there is so much in the
work that is inspiring, so much that is pleas
ing in the human relationships it makes pos
sible, that but for the discomforts of travel
l could really feed upon it spiritually, and
seek no happier diet. l defy any man to
be pessimist on the subject of American
character after a season or two on the
lecture platform; provided of course that
he is a reasonably sympathetic man, and
is so constituted in matters social that he
is what the politicians call good mixer"
To the man who is not interested in the
human animal, ara 1nSlStS upon JudSlHS oil
men by his own rigid and narrow standards,
measuring souls by yardstick, as it were,
the work can never be joy; but if he is
broad enough to take people as he finds
them, looking for the good that lies inherent
in every human being, and judging them
by the measure of their capacity to become
what they were designed to be, and are
honestly trying to be, then he will find it
full of living and a loving interest almost
equal to that of the @joy forever"
Pasted in my spiritual hat is little rime
by one whose name modesty forbids my
mentioning, running:
l can't be what Shakespeare was,
l can't do what great folks does;
But, by Ginger, can be
ME!
And among the folks that love me
Nothin' more's expected of me.
The wandering platform speaker who will
heed the intimations of that little rime, and
seize the friendships in kind that surely
await his coming in all parts of this great,
genial country of ours, will find a wondrous
store of happiness ready to his hand. If in
addition to this he will cultivate the habit
of looking for good in unpromising places,
and of resolutely refusing to admit the power
of small irritations to destroy his peace of
mind, he will get along nicely: The latter
of course requires resolution of kind that
&c ,,erc;cta,,t IN, tho fare of rnreypittinp an.