always at the command of the speaker. It
might vary upon every delivery, and could be altered to meet
emergencies with the audience, but would always be practically
the same.

This method of preparation explains what has been a mystery to
many persons. The several reports of Phillips's lecture on
"The Lost Arts" differ in phraseology and even in arrangement.
Mr. Phillips did not read his speeches in print, and, therefore,
never revised one. He was firmly of the belief that the printed
thought and the spoken thought should be expressed in different
form, and that the master of one form could not be the master
of the other.

I met many young men like myself in the canvass of 1856, and also
made many acquaintances of great value in after-life. It was
difficult for the older stump speakers to change the addresses
they had been delivering for years, so that the young orators,
with their fresh enthusiasm, their intense earnestness and undoubting
faith, were more popular with the audiences, who were keenly alive
to the issues raised then by the new Republican party.

The Republican party was composed of Whigs and anti-slavery
Democrats. In this first campaign the old-timers among the Whigs
and the Democrats could not get over their long antagonism and
distrusted each other. The young men, whether their ancestry was
Democratic or Whig, were the amalgam which rapidly fused all
elements, so that the party presented a united front in the campaign
four years afterwards when Mr. Lincoln was elected.

In the course of that campaign I had as fellow speakers many times
on the platform statesmen of national reputation. These gentlemen,
with few exceptions, made heavy, ponderous, and platitudinous
speeches. If they ever had possessed humor they were afraid of it.
The crowd, however, would invariably desert the statesman for
the speaker who could give them amusement with instruction. The
elder statesmen said by way of advice: "While the people want
to be amused, they have no faith in a man or woman with wit or
anecdote. When it comes to the election of men to conduct public
affairs, they invariably prefer serious men." There is no doubt
that a reputation for wit has seriously impaired the prospects
of many of the ablest men in the country.

The only exception to this rule was Abraham Lincoln. But when
he ran for president the first time he was comparatively unknown
outside his State of Illinois. The campaign managers